


Nameless Fear (Jon Snow x Reader) BOOK IS CURRENTLY UNDER CONSTRUCTION/IN THE PROCESS OF BEING EDITED

by Jessica_Whitlock



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Catelyn Tully Stark Bashing, F/M, Game of Thrones Fix-It, Original Character(s), Reader-Insert, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:15:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24596629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessica_Whitlock/pseuds/Jessica_Whitlock
Summary: 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯. 𝘠/𝘯 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘺𝘸𝘪𝘯 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘑𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵.𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦. 𝘛𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱, 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘠/𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘓𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘜𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘦 𝘒𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘯, 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘛𝘺𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦.(Soulmate AU)
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Jon Snow/Reader, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Tyrion Lannister/Tysha
Comments: 47
Kudos: 97





	1. 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙮

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, welcome to my first ASoIaF fanfiction! I'm so happy you've clicked on this story and I hope you'll enjoy the first chapter of this fix-it/soulmate AU fic. This is an AU and I'm mostly following the Books but I'll add a few GoT dialogs here and there.
> 
> Since I'm following the books, Jon Snow is 14(almost 15) and the reader is 16 which is why I have Underage as a warning since they'll be underage and doing some stuff ;) Rape/Non-Con doesn't mean the reader gets raped but there are some almost rape scenes like the bread riots and talk of rape, so fair warning. And there will be some Major Character Death, by the way, so please don't attack me if I kill off your favorite character (I'm sorry!). Smut and language is present in this story, as well as gore and death. 
> 
> But other than that, I believe that's all. I hope you'll enjoy this story and thank you for clicking on it! 
> 
> P.S please comment and leave Kudos if you've enjoyed the first chapter/prologue of this story!

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙊𝙣𝙚: 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙮  
𝙔/𝙣 𝙇𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧

"Father, what does this mean?" asked young Y/n Lannister. Her eyes were wide and full of curiosity. Lord Tywin Lannister looked over at his youngest, his calculating green eyes met her (e/c) eyes she got from her mother. Rumors were spread far and wide that Lord Lannister loved and favored his youngest out of all of his children.

"Father, what does this name mean?" Y/n asked once more, pointing her small index finger to the ink scribbled into her forearm. Tywin's eyes traveled to where his child was pointing at and his eyes widened at the name scribbled in her smooth skin. Memories of Joanna flooded his mind as he stared at the familiarity of this situation.

"Father?"

"Come here, Y/n," he commanded. Little Y/n walked across the stone floor to her father, her hair bouncing as she walked. Silence overlapped the two Lannisters, only the faint sound of crickets could be heard.  
"Lend me your arm,"

Y/n did as she was told and let her father look at her arm. The pads of his fingers traced her skin, sending shivers up her spine. "What is it?" she asked in a shy voice. Tywin met her eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "It's a soul mark." she furrowed her brows in confusion. "You don't know what a soul mark is?" questioned Tywin. Y/n nodded. "We haven't covered it yet in my lessons," she said sheepishly.

_Of course!_ Thought Tywin. _She's only 6 name-days after all._

"A soul mark is a gift that the gods give very special children, the name of your soulmate. I have one, and so does your brother Tyrion. As well as your Uncle Kevan." Y/n's little hands overlapped one another, her brows were pulled tightly together.  
"But what if I don't want a soulmate father?" Tywin sighs and closes his eyes before answering his daughter. "Well, I guess if you don't want one then . . . then you'll never meet them." Y/n opened her mouth but Tywin raised a finger. "But, make no mistake Y/n, when finding your soulmate you will feel like your soul is finally complete. That empty space will be filled, and you'll do everything in your power to keep them safe."

Y/n just stared at her father, her eyes widening at his words. Her small child mind's wheels turning and thinking. "What if . . . what if my soulmate is an enemy? What if he's a . . . a highborn." Tywin's eyes danced with mirth at his child's remark. Even though she was only a child, she still thought about her family more than her own desires. A true Lady of the Rock. Unlike her sister or brothers. "When the time comes, we'll figure it out. But until then," Tywin cupped her face with his calloused hands. "You will learn, fight, and be a Lannister. A lion. My heir." he kissed her forehead and Y/n closed her eyes, bathing in the pride she was overcome with. She was a Lannister, and Lannister's don't act like fools. They were lions. They were powerful. And she would be the lioness of Casterly Rock.

Years passed since the day Y/n discovered her soul mark, and ever since - she's covered it up. She vowed to never give her enemies a weakness. And the name on her arm was a weakness. She trained day and night, in the training yard, and in her fathers' study. Since the day she was born, she was taught how to be a Lady. The Lady of Casterly Rock, and every day she trained and did her very best. Proving to her father that she was capable of handling the Lannister Ancestral home. On her 10 and 6 name day, she received a letter from her elder brother Jamie Lannister, asking her to come to King's Landing.

"Father," said Y/n as she strutted into her fathers' study in Casterly Rock. Lord Tywin looked up at his daughter, placing his quill down. His green eyes studied her as she walked into the threshold, her head held high, her shoulder back. She walked with grace and confidence.

"Y/n," he said and gestured for her to take a seat. "Father I've received a letter from KingsLanding," she takes the rolled-up parchment out from her dress pocket and hands it to him. "It's from Jamie," Tywin takes the parchment and reads it quickly.  
"He wants you to come to King's Landing," he mused. Y/n nodded her head. "Yes, he thinks it would be good for me to come to that rat's nest." Tywin laughed dryly. "Ha!"

He rolls the letter back up and places it on his desk. "Tell me Y/n," he laced his hands together. "what do you think of this?" Y/n sighs before answering. "I think it would be good for me to go. It would help me make friends and allies at court. Also, I may even help Tyrion and Tysha with their children and teach Tysha more about being a proper lady of the court." Tywin hummed. "And, this visit can help me oversee how bad of a King Robert is."

"You don't need to be there to see how bad of a King Robert is, Y/n, everyone in the seven bloody kingdoms knows. The only reason why they aren't starving is because of us, House Lannister." Tywin stood up from his desk, the chair scraping against the stone floor. He walked over to the portrait of Lady Joanna, Y/n's late mother, with his arms behind his back.

"Father?"

Tywin didn't answer, he just stared into the painted face of Joanna. After the birth of Tyrion, the Maester warned Joanna and Tywin that no more children should be born, for it might kill her. But one night, Tywin and Joanna were caught up in the passion of love that they didn't realize Tywin spent himself inside her. Because of that night, Joanna fell pregnant. For nine-months, Tywin was a wreck. He worried and tried everything in his power to help with the birth of his fourth child. But he did not have the power of the gods. Y/n was born during a blood-red dawn. Even on the cusp of death Lady Joanna held her baby girl in her arms while crying. Tywin was there with his wife and daughter, holding Joanna as she became weaker with every passing minute. For the last hour of her life, Joanna held her daughter and spoke to Tywin, telling him that she loved him, and their children.

After her death, Tywin gave his daughter a name; Y/n of House Lannister. The name came from a great Lannister warrior, Y/n "Red Lion" Lannister. Unlike all the other Lannister, Y/n "Red Lion" Lannister was not just a Lady of the Rock, she was one of the greatest female warriors of Westeros. Her deeds and bravery rivaled Visenya Targaryen. Though she did not ride a dragon, like Visenya, she did ride a Lion. The Lannister Warrior named her lion Leo. And Leo was the warrior's most trusted companion, she raised the lion since he was a cub, and she became like Leo's mother.

Y/n loved her namesake's story, and she too hoped to become like her. When she first heard the story of her namesake from her father, Y/n begged Tywin to get her a lion. It took time but on her 5th name day, she woke up to her father presenting her with an iron key. The key belonged to a cage where a small lion cub sat. Y/n squealed and thanked her father, jumping around and laughing at the sight of the lion.  
Everyday Y/n would take her lion cub and train him, fed him, and walked him like a dog. She named her lion Ty, after her father. Ty grew up very fast and soon became Y/n's protector. He never did leave her side, only when he was commanded to by his mother. Ty was tame, but if anyone threatened his mother, the last thing they would see would be a lion roaring and bashing his teeth before going in for the kill.

"You will go to King's Landing Y/n," Tywin turns his head. "and you will observe Robert,"  
Y/n furrowed her brows. "If I may ask father, why?" He smirked.  
"Because it's been too long for that fat excuse of King has been unsupervised."  
Y/n chuckled. "You speak of him as if he's a child,"  
"Which he is,"  
She smirked at her father. "I have no doubt Father, but why me?"

"Because you and Kevan are the only ones I trust, at the moment." He walks over to Y/n and stops in front of her. "Your siblings have failed me - have failed our House. You, my daughter, are the savior of our House. You shall restore our family name. You will be the Heir to the Rock."  
"But I thought Jamie -"  
"Jamie will never give up that gold cloak. He would rather serve than become Warden of the West. And Tyrion, he's a dwarf, a drunk, and I'm not even sure if he's my son." Y/n nodded her head. She knew, of course, her fathers' doubts of Tyrion being his son.

"And I shall never give the seat of Warden to your sister's children, Tommen is too young, and Joffrey . . ." he trailed off. Joffrey was sadistic. He loved seeing people in pain, bleeding, and loved to hear their screams. He wasn't fit to be King of the Seven Kingdoms. But he was Heir. And Tommen was a spare.

"The Rock falls to you, Y/n, and I have trained you for this spot, for you to be Wardrenss since you were pushed out from your mother's womb," Tywin said. He placed his hands on Y/n's face, looking into her eyes, Joanna's eyes. "Make me proud, Y/n. Make our House proud."

Y/n looked up at her father. She was only 16, but she was ready.  
Ready to prove herself.  
She was ready to be a Lannister.

"I will Father. I promise. I will make our family, my mother, proud."

And for the first time in a very long time, Lord Tywin Lannister smiled.

* * *

"Into the rat's nest we go," muttered Y/n as she got off her white mare. Her red cloak flowed behind her as she walked, her feet moved with purpose and didn't falter. Her shoulders were back and her head held high as she walked over to her family. Cersei, Jamie, Tyrion, and her niece and nephews.

Jamie embraced her first, hugging her tight. "Welcome, sister," he said in her ear. Y/n hugged him back before letting go and greeting her other older brother; Tyrion.

"Hello, Tyrion,"

"Ahh, hello little sister, I hope the ride to Kings Landing wasn't troubled."

Y/n smiled at her brother before leaning down to hug him and kiss him on the cheek. Tyrion and Jamie loved her more than Cersei, the brothers protected Y/n from a very young age. When Y/n was just a girl of seven, Jamie chased away a boy who tried to kiss her - even though Y/n had already slapped the boy and kicked him in his groin - while Tyrion comforted her and lectured the boy before their father could attack him with an open sword.

"Y/n, how do you fair?" questioned Queen Cersei after Y/n released Tyrion and stood up. Y/n met her sister's narrowed green eyes. The Queen was beautiful but old. With Y/n standing in front of her, any onlooker could see how much fairer the young Lannister was.  
"I am fine, sweet sister." Y/n turned her gaze towards her eldest nephew Joffrey. His arms were crossed and there was a bored expression on his pouty face. His blonde curls framed his face and created a golden curtain around his Lannister features.

"Hello, Joffrey,"

"Aunt Y/n," A cruel smile appeared on Joffery's face that made Y/n shiver. "I'm so glad that you've come all this way to King's Landing," Y/n was about to reply when seven-year-old Tommen squealed in delight at the sight of a large caravan flying House Lannister flags. Y/n's guard's surrounded the caravan, protecting her sweet lion. "Ahh, Ty's here."

Joffery watched as his Aunt's guards stopped and started shouting orders. A man with short copper hair and silver armor with a flaming tree etched on his breast-plate was the one shouting commands to the other guards. This man had bronze color eyes and stood proud as if he was born to lead. This was Ser Addam Marbrands little brother, Eric Marbrand, commander of Y/n Lannsister's guards. Joffery could hear scratching and something growling from inside the caravan, while Tommen watched in awe. Myrcella clutched onto her mother's arm, fearing the creature that made such noise. Eric walked over to his Lady and bowed curtly at the royal family before addressing Y/n. "My Lady," Y/n smiled at Eric. "Thank you, Eric, for seeing to my beloved lion's safety," She gave him a small peck on his cheek before walking over to the now open caravan. A blush coated Eric's face before he composed himself and followed after his lady, a hand on the hilt of his sword. He would be damned if anything happened to Y/n, he would die for her, but until then, he shall follow her and protect her. A large yellow paw was the first thing Tommen saw before he squealed louder, making Joffery scoff and complain about how un-princely his little brother sounded. Although Joffery was too impressed and excited to see his rumored Aunt's "baby".

"Ty!" Y/n said and the blonde lion walked out of the comfy caravan towards his mother. Ty rubbed his face on Y/n's dress while she laughed and smiled at her lion. The big lion purred as Y/n rubbed behind his ear, turning the big furious lion into a house cat. Tommen tried to walk up to his Aunt but his mother grabbed his arm and stopped him. The seven-year-old prince glared at his mother but Cersei didn't even pay attention, she was too busy glaring at her younger sister.

"Why did you bring this beast?! This thing could kill one of my children!" she scowled. Y/n just sighed and looked up from her lion to her big sister. "Ty would never hurt a child, Cersei, he's trained. And he only attacks unless I command him to."  
"Mama, I want to go pet him!" said Tommen. Y/n smiled indulgently at her youngest nephew. "Tommen," started Cersei before Tyrion interrupted her and walked over to his young sister. He waddled over to the lion and he put out his hand for Ty to sniff. "Well, I must say, sister, this is a surprise," he said. "Father let you take this . . ." he trailed off as Ty licked his hand.

"Yes Tyrion, father knows that wherever I go, Ty comes along. Besides, father likes knowing that I have a fierce lion protecting me when he cannot." Y/n giggled as Ty started licking Tyrion's face making the dwarf laugh nervously.  
"Tyrion, where's Tysha?" Y/n asks, her eyes looking around the courtyard.

"Ah, I see you haven't heard, Tysha is resting. She's just given birth to a girl." The young lion smiled at her brother. "Congratulations, brother dear." Tysha and Tyrion have been trying to have a babe for a while now and it seems like the gods have blessed them.

When Tyrion was 16 and Y/n 8, he met Tysha near Casterly Rock. She was being chased and almost raped by bandit's and Jamie chased them away while Tyrion comforted the girl with black hair and blue eyes. She was lowborn but Tyrion didn't care about that. Tyrion was born with the name "Tysha" on his wrist, and when they first touched they felt a spark. Tyrion fed her, drank with her, and talked. They fell in love and made love that night. Afterward, she sang him a song and kissed, they were so in love that Tyrion married her without their father's permission. They found a drunken Septon and got married with only pigs to witness their union. They lived in a cottage by the sunset sea where they made love, kissed, and sang. But when Septon sobered up, he told Tywin of his dwarfs' son's marriage. Tywin was enraged that day and only young 8-year-old Y/n could stop her father from doing what he intended to do. She convinced him that if he went through with his plan she would kill herself. She wouldn't stand by and live knowing that her father split up two soulmates. Tywin cried that night and hugged his last living memory of Joanna and promised to never split Tyrion and Tysha up.  
The next day he and Y/n went down to Tyrion's and Tysha's cottage and took them to the Rock where Septa's and Y/n taught Tysha how to be a proper lady. That was Tywin's condition, if Tyrion wanted to live in the Rock with his wife, she would become a proper lady. Turns out that Tywin greatly enjoyed Tysha's presence and she soon became part of the Lannister Family, though she and Tyrion would never inherit the Rock. Cersei hated Tysha but then again, she hated almost everyone that wasn't her or was a threat.

"I'm glad, brother, you and Tysha deserve all the happiness in the world." Y/n said before looking at her sister. "If you don't mind sister, brothers, I'm very tired. Would you please show me to my room?" Cersei nodded. "Jamie, show our little sister where she'll be sleeping." Cersei turned and headed back inside the Red Keep with her children trailing behind her with a few Lannister guards shadowing her movements.

"Come, sister," said Jamie sweetly before leading Y/n through the Red Keep.


	2. 𝙇𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙇𝙞𝙤𝙣

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 𝘌𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.
> 
> 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯. 𝘠/𝘯 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘺𝘸𝘪𝘯 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘑𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵. 
> 
> 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦. 𝘛𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱, 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘠/𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘓𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘜𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘦 𝘒𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘯, 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘛𝘺𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you to those who've bookmarked and lefts kudos! I'm so happy there are people out there reading this fic! The next chapter will finally be about Winterfell and the reader gets to meet Jon and heads up, it'll be a long one. Italic font is thoughts and past memories. :)

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙏𝙬𝙤: 𝙇𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙇𝙞𝙤𝙣

𝙔/𝙣 𝙇𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧

“My lady,”

Y/n stopped at the sudden sound of that voice. The young lioness took a deep breath before turning to face Littlefinger.

“Lord Baelish,” said Y/n, her eyes studied the slippery man before her. He dressed in his robes with his signature mockingbird pin, his arms held heavy books. _It only took two days,_ thought Y/n as she took in Baelish.

“I hope the capital is to your liking,” he walked forward, trying to invade Y/n’s space. Unlike others in the capital, Y/n was prepared for this meeting with Littlefinger, she knew his tactics, and she knew she couldn’t trust him. _Did anyone trust him?_ She thought bitterly.

“Yes, It’s quite different than I’d imagine if I may say so. But, having grown up in the vast Westerlands, I don’t think anything could compare to my father’s lands.” Littlefinger gestured for her to walk. Y/n walked along with Littlefinger, feeling his beady eyes on her as she walked. Baelish lent her his arm and she gave him a forced smile and took his arm. As they walked Littlefinger looked at her with intrigue and it sent shivers down Y/n’s spine.

“If I may ask, Lord Baelish, why are you here?” Her eyes wandered around the gardens of Red Keep. Casterly Rock had better gardens but she wouldn’t say that to her sister - even if it were true - Y/n was rather fond of her head still attached to her neck. As they walked - in uncomfortable and suffocating silence - Y/n watched ladies of the court, servants that tended to the gardens, and septas as they sewed with highborn girls. She watched as couples and soulmates - squires, kitchen wenches, maids, and even highborn's - kiss and speak loving things behind bushes and hedges.

“Ahh, young love, such a magical thing is it not, Lady Y/n?” Baelish said, his voice slicked with slyness. He was paying with her, toying, and trying to get under her skin. “Yes Lord Baelish, love is beautiful,” she looked over at a couple - soulmates - who were arguing.

“But it’s also filled with pain and anguish.” a smirk was planted on her face as she turned to face Littlefinger.

There were stories, stories about a small little boy in love with a girl with fiery hair. And how that small little boy was stabbed by a wolf because he challenged said wolf for his fiance's hand.

“Indeed, Lady Y/n, love and the concept of soulmates is indeed full of love . . . and anguish,” Littlefinger smiled slyly and Y/n thought back to what Lord Varys had said yesterday.

_Lord Varys smiled at Lady Y/n as he greeted her kindly. “My lady, the city is brighter with your presence,” “Lord Varys, the master of whispers, a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Y/n smiled at the eunuch. “I’ve heard so much about you, My Lord,” Lord Varys lent her his arm._

_“And I have heard almost nothing about you, Lady Y/n, the secret jewel of Casterly Rock, the youngest child of the great Tywin Lannister,”_

_“I am nothing compared to my brothers and sisters, Lord Varys. Jamie; the Kingslayer, Cersei; the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and Tyrion; the Imp, what wonderful titles,” Varys looked her over with an unidentifiable look. “My siblings and I are completely different, Lord Varys, I assure you,”_

_“But for better . . . or for worse, My Lady?” They stopped and Y/n looked at the eunuch and for once in her lifetime she had nothing to say. For she did not know._

_“You are here for a reason, Lord Varys, tell me the truth why you have sought me out?” Varys looked over Y/n’s shoulder and she turned her head._

_A woman was staring at them. A spy. But for who, she did not know._

_“Today in court you were looking at Lord Baelish,”_

_“Were you watching me Lord Varys?” she said. He took a couple of steps forward, closer to her, as if he was trying to whisper a most precious secret._

_“Littlefinger is not to be trusted, he’s far too sly and make no mistake he will find a way to manipulate you, Lady Y/n,” Y/n narrowed her eyes at him._

_“Is this your way of warning me Spider?” “This is my way of warning you,” he confirmed. Y/n only smiled and shook her head. “I am asking again, Lord Varys, why are you here? Why are you warning me? What do you want?” Varys walked closer to her, his perfume overwhelmed her._

“Lady Y/n?”

Y/n shifted her attention to the present and cursed herself for failing to keep her head in the now. She could not afford to give off any weakness or information that Littlefinger could use to manipulate her. Her father would be disappointed, already showing weakness to a dangerous foe.

“You must forgive me, Lord Baelish, I’ve had a very trying couple of days,” she said and gave the greasy little man an award-winning smile.

“Yes, I’ve heard of your . . . activities,”

Y/n wanted to glare at the man, but she couldn’t. She needed to gain Littlefinger’s trust. “Yes, well, every lady must have a hobby, My Lord,”

“Even one so unladylike?” He took two steps forward, getting closer and closer to her. Trying to intimidate her.

“Lord Baelish, if you have a problem with my combat training, then please, consult my father,” Anger seeped through her words, it was foolish, she knew it. But this little man somehow got the worst of her. And he knew it too. The smug little smirk was evident of that. _Damn him,_ thought Y/n. _Damn him and his sly ways._

* * *

“Aunt Y/n!!” shouted young fat Tommen Baratheon. He ran up to his aunt Y/n and hugged her middle. The young heiress smiled and hugged her favorite nephew.

“Hello Tommen,” she cooed and held his chubby face in her hands. “How are you, my beautiful boy?”

“I’m fine, but I wanted to show you something!” he grabbed her hand and started dragging Y/n towards his quarters.

Two Lannister guards stood guard and Tommen waved at them friendly. They let Y/n and Tommen pass. Tommen opened the door and dragged Y/n towards his bed.

“Tommen?” she questioned the little seven-year-old boy. “Here, look!” he pointed to the fluffy orange ball of fluff laying on his bed. “That’s my cat, Ser Pounce!” he beamed like it was his name-day.

“Aww, hello little fellow,” cooed Y/n as she ran her fingers through the cat's fur. Ser Pounce purred and stretched out, and Y/n wore a smile on her face. “He’s adorable,” said Y/n looking over at her nephew.

“I’m glad you think so. Joffrey hates him. He said that . . . that,” Little Tommen’s eyes welled up and tears started flowing at the prospect of his cruel older-brother hurting his precious cat.

“Oh Tommen,” she brought the boy into her arms and held him as he cried.

“I promise, I won’t let your brother hurt Ser Pounce, he won’t touch you or him. Not while I’m here. And if he does,” she made Tommen look up at her, his green eyes meeting her own eyes. “You come straight to me, not to your mother, father, or septa. To me.” he nodded his little head and buried his face in his aunt’s middle.

“Thank you, Aunt Y/n,” he whispered. “Of course, Tommen, I’ll protect you, I promise.” Y/n closed her eyes, trying to blink back the tears threatening to flow.

She couldn’t show Tommen that she was weak, he needed someone to protect him, and that’s exactly what Y/n was going to be. His protector. His parents have already failed at protecting little Tommen from his vile brother, and with them interfering with his sword training . . . no that simply won’t do.

“Tommen?” he looked up from Y/n’s middle. His Aunt brought her thumbs to the corner of his eyes and wiped his tears. “Do you want to train with a sword?” she asked.

Tommen bit his bottom lip. He didn’t know how to answer. His mother and father pulled him out from his sword training last year when he came back with a small bruise on his knee from falling. Cersei wanted the trainer’s head because he “hurt her little boy” when reality Tommen just tripped on a rock. But no matter how much Tommen tried to tell his mother, she would not listen. She told his father, and Robert told the trainer that Tommen would not practice anymore.

“Well, Mother took me out of training last year, even though I told her I didn’t want to stop.” he looked down at his feet.

“I don’t think I could be good,” he whispered in the last part.

Y/n hushed him. “My dear boy, you have a thousand best swordsmen following through your veins, if anyone could be great in combat, it would be you. I’ve seen your brother. Plucking around the keep, with his bloody crossbow.” Y/n rolled her eyes.

“You Tommen would do amazing, it will be hard work and you’ll get bruises, but you’ll become strong.” Tommen smiled at her and nodded his head.

“Alright, I’ll do it! I want to start sword practice again!” Y/n smiled and kissed his forehead. “Than it shall be done, my little lion,”

* * *

“How dare you!” Y/n looked up from her letter she was writing to her father when her sister burst into the room.

“Hello to you as well, Cersei,” she muttered and poured herself a goblet of dornish wine.

“How dare you, you have no right!” Cersei seethed. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about, sister,” She growled like a lion before knocking over Y/n’s goblet of wine.

“Hey,” started Y/n. “You know exactly what I’m talking about! You cannot send my boy to practice with a sword! He’s too young!”

Y/n - now annoyed at her sister - glared at her sister.

“He’s too young? Tommen is seven years old! He told me he wanted to train and being his favorite Aunt I’ve granted his wish. He wants to be just like Uncle Jamie, did you know?” Cersei’s face faltered. “He wants to be a grand knight, saving poor helpless maidens and protecting the weak and innocent.” Y/n walks over to her sister, closing in on her like a lion stalking its prey. “Tommen has the potential, Cersei. He could be just like Jamie, or father, or even Uncle Tygett. Let Tommen have this one wish, sister,” Cersei shook her head. “No. I will not have my boy become barbaric, he shall be a little prince. Not some wild knight like the Hound!”

“Sandor is not wild, sister, he’s - “ “He’s as wild as his older brother,” she seethed. “No. Tommen will not train. And that is final!” Cersei stalked out of Y/n’s room, slamming the door in the process. Y/n only sighed and called for her personal maids to clean up the mess her lovely sister made.

“Mara, please clean this up,” she said to the young woman with honey hair. Mara nodded and did a curtsy. Soon the wine spill was cleaned up and Y/n was sipping on another glass of wine. Mara quickly cleaned and scrubbed while Y/n went back to her letter to father.

_Father,_

_I honestly thought Kings Landing would be more than this city that smells like shit all the time. But no matter, soon I’ll be back to Casterly Rock and hopefully, I’ll have a companion with me. Have you decided about it yet? I think Tommen would love the Rock. He would be free from Cersei’s claws and learn how to be a Prince and Lord. My poor nephew has wishes and desires that his mother keeps taking away from him and I can only fear what's to come when Joffrey gets a hold of sweet Tommen. How is the Rock? I miss it very much. The gardens here cannot compare to mother’s gardens. I miss you and Uncle Kevan. Ty is restless and he’s always on guard. I’m thinking of moving him to my room, but I know Cersei would have a fit. She already did when she saw him the first time. Jamie still protects the king, and prances around in his gold cloak, while Tyrion has spent almost all his time with his newest daughter. Thomas loves his baby sister, and I’m told he never leaves her side. I have encountered a spider and a mockingbird, not my choice of course. They found me. Though I dislike the way Lady Lysa Arryn watches Littlefinger, it is not how a friend looks at a friend. I will continue to observe and keep a watchful eye out. I love you father, and I miss you very much._

_Y/n of House Lannister_

_Y/n,_

_I don’t want you near Lysa Arryn. She’s trouble. And I don’t want our family mixing with hers. Yes, I have decided, and I agree, getting Tommen away from his mother would be excellent and beneficial. I’ve already sent Jon Arryn a raven, it should arrive tomorrow. Confront Arryn and convince him of sending Tommen to the Rock._

_Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, and Warden of the West_

* * *

"My Lord Hand," Lord Arryn looked up at the call of his name.

Y/n stood in the chambers of the Small Council. Jon smiled at the young Lannister. "My Lady," he gestured for her to sit down. Y/n smiled and took a seat. "I apologize My Lord, but I wanted to ask you a question." He nodded.

"Of course, of course. What did you want to ask My Lady?"

"I was wondering if you could help me convince the King to send Prince Tommen to the Rock. My father would gladly foster the boy." Jon Arryn nodded his head. "Yes, yes. I too wanted to send my own son to be fostered by Lord Stannis Baratheon. I'm trying to convince my wife at the moment, but Tully's are a stubborn bunch." he muttered the last bit mostly to himself but Y/n heard it anyway.

"Yes, well, do you think you could convince King Robert to let Tommen come to the Rock?" She asked the old Hand of the King. "I believe I could, Robert is stubborn, but I've always made him see reason," he told Y/n. Y/n nodded her head before standing up from the Small Council table.

"Thank you for listing My Lord Hand,"

"Of course, My Lady," he said and Y/n walked out of the Small Council chamber with a satisfied smirk on her face. She had no idea how terrible things would turn out in just a couple of days.


	3. 𝙒𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙡

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 𝘍𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴, 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴.
> 
> 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯. 𝘠/𝘯 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘺𝘸𝘪𝘯 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘑𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵. 
> 
> 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦. 𝘛𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱, 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘠/𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘓𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘜𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘦 𝘒𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘯, 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘛𝘺𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story! It means a lot to me and I hope I've captured each character and their personality in this story!   
> This chapter is a long one (well the longest one so far) and I hope you'll enjoy today's chapter! Be safe everyone! x

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚: 𝙒𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙡

𝙔/𝙣 𝙇𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧

“Jon Arryn is dead?” Shock overwhelmed Y/n as she looked at her sister, the Queen. “How?” Y/n asked, confusion clouded her features. Cersei did not reply, she only took a sip of wine. “Apparently it was a dreadful fever,” Jamie said casually. His hand rested on the hilt of the sword that was strapped onto his body. “Really,” said Y/n, not convinced that it was a fever that took the late Hand of the King. “Yes, such a terrible way to die.” mused Cersei. Her green eyes studied the red liquid in her goblet. Y/n looked over at Tyrion. The dwarf sat away from Cersei with his own pitcher of wine. His mismatched eyes were locked on Y/n’s form. Questions danced in them, but he did not ask.

“When is Robert going to name his new Hand?” Y/n asked, genuinely curious. Cersei chuckled bitterly. “He wants to go to Winterfell, and name his dear old pal, Ned Stark, Hand.” She took another sip, but a longer one this time.

_Ned Stark? Why Ned Stark?_

“Why Ned Stark?” Tyrion asked, finally saying something. Cersei looked at her little brother. “I don’t know. Robert never told me. In fact, he never tells me anything anymore.” 

“Then how do you know that Stark is being named Hand of the King?” questioned Y/n. Her eyebrows rose, and her arms were crossed over her chest. She didn’t want to be here, but Cersei summoned her for a _‘family meeting’_ before Y/n could go to the training yard. She was dressed in breaches with a loose white sleeved shirt. Her covered feet were crossed at the ankle and spread out in front of her. 

“I know because Littlefinger told me,” she seethed. Suddenly angry at her little sister questioning her. Y/n sighed and rolled her eyes. “You honestly believe what Littlefinger tells you?” A glare was thrown her way but Y/n didn’t let that stop her. “He’s not trustworthy. He’s a liar. What he says may be true, but you should never trust him.” 

“Do you think I’m an idiot?!” shouted Cersei. Fed up with her sister. Y/n was silent. The whole room was silent, as the two sisters glared while the two brothers stared at the glaring lionesses. 

“No. I don’t think you’re an idiot, Cersei. But I do think you trust Littlefinger a tad bit too much.” said Y/n, her eyes softening. Cersei and Y/n always had a complicated relationship. They loved one another, but could also hate each other. 

“I just want you to be careful,” Y/n said. She reached out her hand, touching her sister’s arm. “We’re lions. We protect our own. And I don’t want to see you get hurt. Why do you think father sent me here?” 

Cersei did not answer. She just stared at her little sister. Her eyes green with envy and jealousy. She could do nothing to please her Lord father. Marrying the King, birthing little princes and princesses. Nothing could compare to her little sister. Y/n was her father's favorite. Not even Jamie, his heir, was his favorite anymore. Not since he refused to give up his gold cloak. Y/n was held on a pedestal. Not Jamie, Cersei, or even Tyrion could amount to what Y/n had to offer to their lord father. 

“Get out,” 

Y/n stood up, ripping her hand from Cersei’s arm. Disgust and hurt filled her eyes. 

“I used to admire you, you know, ” spat Y/n. Fury filled her veins. She wanted to hit something. Anything. “But for some reason, you despised me. As a child, you would hurt me. Mock me. Why?” tears sprang to her eyes. 

Cersei lifted her glass to her lips, refusing to answer. Her blonde hair created a curtain around her head. 

“Why?!” shouted Y/n. Tears flowed freely, drenching her cheeks. Her throat constricted as sobs threatened to escape. 

“Get out,” Cersei repeated, bitter, and anger in her tone. “Get out!!” 

* * *

“Ahhhhh!!” a scream escaped from Y/n as she swung her blunt sword at the dummy before her. Hay spilled from the fake body. Her arms burned and her legs hurt but she did not care. She was angry. Angry at Cersei. Angry at Jon Arryn. Angry at herself. The sun beat down on Y/n’s skin, tanning and burning it and a thick layer of sweat covered the skin. 

Tears were springing to her eyes but she pushed them down, refusing to cry as she trained. Her sword swung again, and again, and again. Hay was spilled out around the training yard, and her feet kicked up a storm in the dirt as she moved and danced around the dummy. 

Her sword hacked into the dummy’s arm, cutting it straight through. The sound of ripping filled her ears, making her stop with her sword raised. She watched as the arm fell to the ground. Hay spilled out from the arm, her eyes narrowed at the yellow straw. For a second, the straw wasn’t straw. It was blood. Blood covered the dummy, around her, and on her. Dead bodies surround Y/n. Heads, arms, bowels, even stomachs were spilling from bodies. Screams of dying men filled her ears. Screams of women and children. The smell of burnt flesh. 

“My lady?” 

Y/n gasped and spun around, swinging her blunt sword. Her sword made contact with another blunt sword and Eric’s smiling face came into view. His copper hair shone in the sun and his tan skin had a glow to it. 

“Eric,” said Y/n. Her sword falling to the ground. “I’m sorry,” Eric waved her off. “It’s no big deal, My Lady.” A cocky smirk appeared on his handsome face. “Besides, if you wanted to kill me, I would gladly die for the most beautiful lady in the Seven Kingdoms.” 

A laugh flowed from Y/n, and she sported a smile. 

“You always know how to make me laugh, Eric.” A flush appeared on his neck. “I know you, My Lady. And I know something is bothering you,” 

Y/n picked up her sword from the dirt and raised a brow. “Do you, now? What gave you that idea?” 

“Besides the one-armed dummy? Your eyes.” Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?” she asked. 

“Your eyes aren’t lit anymore. They aren’t full of life. They’re dull, dull as of a dead man’s.” he spoke softly. He brought his hand up to her face, cupping it. Y/n closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. The pads of his fingers rubbed her cheek, and Y/n could feel the calluses on his hands, telling her that he did not sit around all day ordering people. He fought with his soldiers. He bled with his soldiers. And he died with his fellow soldiers. 

“Thank you, Eric,” whispered Y/n, her eyes opening. Eric nodded his head and pulled his hand away from her face. “Of course, My Lady,” 

* * *

“M’lady, your bath is drawn,” Mara stood with her head inclined and her hands crossed in front of her abdominal. “Thank you, Mara,” Y/n said, giving the young girl a smile. Mara was given to her by her Father when Y/n was 9 years old, and ever since then, Y/n and Mara had a strong bond. Mara was only loyal to her, not her father, or Cersei, just her. 

Y/n shed her clothes and dropped them onto the cold stone floor by the tub. A cold wind blew against her naked skin, covering her in gooseflesh. Y/n could feel her nipples harden and took her hair out of its confinement. She raised her leg up, her toes touched the warm water, before taking a step inside the tub. She lowered herself into the tub, the water sloshed against the sides and her skin, making her sigh happily. 

“M’lady would you like me to help you?” asked Mara. The young honey-haired girl knew that Y/n sometimes liked to bathe herself and she always asked her lady to make sure she was wanted. 

“Yes, I would appreciate your help, Mara.” Y/n said kindly. 

Unlike her sister who thought those below her were unworthy and didn’t deserve her attention, Y/n knew that all subjects, even the lower ones, were an important part of running and thriving kingdom. When Y/n was a child, she watched as her elder sister had beaten a servant girl for stealing a necklace. She lost an eye because of that. After witnessing that encounter, Y/n vowed to never treat another person with such cruelty, especially those who were considered beneath her. 

Mara lathered the young heiress in oils and soaps, washing her hair and body. As Mara massaged the soap in Y/n’s hair, the young girl traced the ink on her forearm. Her index finger traced the ‘J’ as Mara spoke kindly: “M’lady, are you alright?” Y/n nodded her head. She felt something in the pit of her stomach, a fire that was burning bright and could not be snuffed out. Whenever Y/n traced or rubbed her soul mark, she would get this feeling. 

Desire. Lust. Longing. 

“I’m fine. Mara. It’s been a long day,” she mused. “Please close your eyes, m’lady,” Y/n closed her eyes and Mara poured water over her head, washing the soaps and oils. Y/n would never speak of this, but sometimes when she closed her eyes, she would see grey - almost black - eyes staring back at her. 

  
  
  


* * *

Dreams plagued her that night. Dreams of fire and ash. It was always the same. The smell of burnt flesh, a burst of mad laughter echoing, and a corpse wrapped in a Targaryen banner. Sometimes it was her father, her cousins, her siblings, sometimes even Ty. But this time it wasn’t her like she suspected it to be. No, it was a boy. A young boy of 14 with dark curls and pale skin. A scar ran down his face, and ash speckled his beautiful snow-white skin. He was dead. His lips blue and his fingertips matching his full lips. 

A screech of a Dragon echoed through the ruins of King’s Landing - or what she thought was King's Landing - and a large shadow flew over her. She scrambled over to the body, trying to run from the impending doom that was over her. A large black dragon screeched once more before flames licked her skin. Screams flew from her as the fire melted her flesh. But it wasn’t the dragon fire that scared her, it was the laughter that followed. Loud, insane laughter. 

Y/n shot up from her bed, her body drenched in sweat. Her eyes frantically looked around her room. Seeing no threats, Y/n ripped the blankets from her body and placed her feet on the stone, standing up from her feather bed. She walked across the room to the balcony she had and opened up the doors. The cool air of the night blew into her suffocating room. She let out a sigh, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. A soft breeze blew in the night air, twirling her hair. 

Y/n’s eyes opened as she heard a commotion down below from the keep. Horses and soldiers sporting the Arryn falcon sigil accompanied a medium-sized wheelhouse.  _ Lysa Arryn is fleeing?  _ Y/n thought.  _ Why?  _

Her brows furrowed and she looked at a large company leaving the Red Keep.  _ Strange, _ thought Y/n,  _ but why is Lysa Arryn tucking her tail between her legs?  _

* * *

  
  


A loud knock erupted Y/n from her sleep. The young woman groaned and opened her eyes, slowly. 

Mara walked into Y/n’s line of sight and she did a curtsy before walking towards the door and opening it. A king’s guard stood in the doorway. Ser Meryn Trant. 

Mara and the king’s guard spoke quietly before Mara closed the door and walked towards her lady. 

“M’lady, The Queen requests for you to join her and her family to break fast,” 

Y/n laughed bitterly. “Of course she does,” Mara pulled the blankets from her body and helped Y/n up. 

“What dress do you wish to wear today, m’lady?” asked Mara politely. Y/n shrugged - very unladylike which is what Aunt Genna would say - and sighed. “Maybe the red one with -” 

“-with the golden hem and lions embroidered in the bodice?” Mara finished. Y/n nodded and smiled. “Yes, that one.” 

Mara grabbed the brush on her vanity and started brushing out Y/n’s hair as the young girl yawned tiredly. “How did you sleep m’lady?” 

“Fine.” Y/n never told anyone about her vivid nightmares. She didn’t want to speak about any weaknesses she might have. 

“Very good, m'lady,” Mara sat the brush down before helping Y/n out of her nightgown. Once the flowy fabric fell to the floor in a puddle of white, Mara went to grab Y/n’s dress of choice, a shift, and some linens. 

Y/n waited, patiently. Her face was hard and didn’t give any emotion, but in her mind, she was working out problems trying to come up with solutions. 

“That is a wonderful dress, dear sister,” commented Tyrion. He sat next to his wife Tysha - who was holding their newborn in her arms - and son Thomas. Y/n walked into Cersei’s quarters in Maegor’s Holdfast. 

Cersei sat at the head of the table next to her eldest son, Joffrey, and on her other side Myrcella and Tommen. Across were Tyrion and his wife and children. Jamie didn’t sit down, he was standing near his twin with his hand on the hilt of his sword. One empty seat near Tyrion’s son Thomas was empty and Y/n smiled at her family and quickly took her spot next to Thomas. 

“Why thank you Tyrion, father had it made for me on my name day. Said that I looked just like our mother on her 10 and 6th name day.” Cersei’s grip on her wine cup got tighter. 

“Oh hello, Thomas,” the boy of 6 smiled at his aunt and gave her a bone-crushing hug. Y/n smiled at him and hugged the boy back. Thomas was a sweet boy, like his cousin Tommen. Those two could be twins, same blonde hair, curly, light tan skin. The only difference Thomas had was that instead of Tommen's Lannister green eyes, Thomas had his mother’s blue eyes. 

“Good morning, Aunt Y/n!” he said in a soft voice. Y/n’s smile grew bigger and she patted his head and kissed his forehead before looking at her newest niece and goodsister. 

“Tysha, I am so sorry I haven’t visited you lately. I didn’t know if you would be up to it, with the birth of you little girl and all,” Y/n said sweetly to the girl. Tysha just smiled and shook her head. “It’s quite alright, Y/n. Here, would you like to see her?” Y/n nodded her head and Tysha shifted her hold on her daughter and Y/n saw a tuft of black hair peeking out from the blanket. A small, sleeping babe came into view and Y/n felt her heart melt at the tiny child. 

“What’s her name?” she found herself asking. Tysha smiled. “Genevieve, after my mother.” Genevieve shifted and her eyes opened revealing the Lannister green eyes. “She’s beautiful, Tysha, truly.” Tysha blushed and Cersei coughed. Y/n turned to look at her sister and raised a brow. 

“Sister, I’ve asked you all here for an announcement,” she started saying. Joffrey shuffled in his seat, his arms crossed with a bored look on his face. 

“Robert is going to publicly announce that he’s going to be traveling to Winterfell, a raven will be sent to Lord Stark, and my dear husband is going to take the entire court with him,” Cersei rolled her eyes, clearly showing her disgust and anger towards her fat husband. 

“If I may ask, Cersei, if Robert was going to publicly announce this, then why did you summon us?” Tyrion asked his older sister. Cersei just smirked at her little brother. “Because, I wanted to tell my family of this news first, before my dear husband.” 

Y/n raised a brow and looked at Myrcella and Tommen -who were busy speaking in quiet whispers with Thomas - and they stopped talking. 

“And, my dear family, we will be going North. The North has no love for Lannisters, and we must protect ourselves. No matter how much we despise each other, - “ she looked at Tyrion when she said this. “- plus father will want this trip to go well. If we displease him and the Lannister name -” 

“-we may as well cut off our own heads and place them on spikes,” interrupted Tyrion. Cersei smirked. “Precisely.” 

“I will be frank, I do not like you Tyrion or you Tysha,” Tysha looked down at her babe, nodding her head. “But I like you more than father when he’s displeased.” 

Tysha looked up at Cersei and nodded her head. Cersei, Tyrion, Tysha, and their children went with Joffery to Casterly Rock for his 10 and 2 name days a couple of months ago and Tysha knew that her goodfather did not like her or his youngest son. While she was at the Rock she made sure to stay out of his way and spent her time with Y/n, Keven, and Genna Lannister. 

“I agree with you, My Queen, we are Lannisters, and we must protect our own.” And for once, Cersei Lannister smiled at Tysha Lannister. 

* * *

Y/n smiled at Ty as she ran her fingers through his fur. The lion purred and rubbed his face against his mother as the wind blew through his majestic mane. A raven came to Y/n today, from her father - at least that’s what she judged by the roaring lion wax seal - and she has yet to open it. She didn’t want to ruin her afternoon by her father's angry words, she wanted to relax and enjoy her last few days in King’s Landing before they head North. 

As Cersei said, Robert announced that he, his family, and the court were going to be riding to Winterfell and all day long that was all the ladies of the court had to gossip about. It made Y/n retreat to her beloved lion. 

Ty must’ve noticed her displeased look because he perked up and head-butted his head against her own and Y/n turned and smiled at him. “It’s alright, Ty,” she soothed and began rubbing his neck. 

Y/n sighed and took out the letter from her pocket and broke the seal. 

_ Y/n,  _

_ Lannisters don’t act like fools, and we’ve been humiliated. Not publicly, but we have been humiliated. Arryn’s death was swift and quick, unlike any fever Maester Creylen has ever heard of. We must be cautious and careful who to trust. Be careful, King’s Landing is full of vipers, and I don’t wish to see you get bitten.  _

_ Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, and Warden of the West  _

  
  
  


A whistle made Y/n look up from her letter and she spotted Tyrion waddling towards her, whistling their house song. 

“Hello Tyrion,” she said, rolling up the letter and stuffing it back in her pocket. “Y/n, may I ask you a question?” 

Y/n smirked. “You’re already asking me one now,” 

“Have you seen Lady Arryn?” Y/n looked down at her hands. “She left in the night,” 

“I suspect as much,” mused Tyrion. “Do you know why?” Y/n shrugged her shoulders. “I have absolutely no idea, brother.” 

“Well, Lady Arryn was a bit of a loony anyway, and she saw enemies everywhere.” 

“She was right to see them everywhere. Because there are,” said Y/n, her eyes looking around the courtyard. “Agreed. But why leave in the night?” Y/n raised a brow. “How did you know she left in the night, brother?” 

He smirked. “I watched her leave from the comforts of my quarters.” 

“As did I. And I agree, she was a bit loony. But why did she leave in the middle of the night? That’s the question we need to be answered.” Y/n sighed and shook her head. 

“Father was right for me to stay away from her. She’s trouble.” 

“Perhaps so, but we mustn’t forget one thing, sister,” Y/n looked at Tyrion. “Loony’s always have a reason to be loony. Whether Lysa Arryn is or isn’t crazy, she must’ve had a reason to go in the night, with only a small company.” 

Y/n nodded her head. “You think she was told to do so.” 

“Or threatened. We may never know. But I do know this, this is not the last time we’ll hear or see Lady Arryn,” 

* * *

The North was cold, bitter, and absolutely beautiful. Y/n loved the cold winds and the earthy and northern smell the North had - unlike King’s Landing where all you smell is shit - and Ty especially loved the North. It was a drastic change of course, from the summer Westerlands to the cold North. 

“Ahh, would you look at that?!” Robert boomed, pointing towards the faraway castle of Winterfell. “We’re almost there! Be there by tomorrow I suspect.” 

Y/n shook her head at the fat King, rolling her eyes. 

Y/n was riding on horseback with her brother Jamie, Sandor Clegane - one of her oldest friends - and her pompous nephew; Joffrey. Eric rode behind Y/n with a few of her personal guards while the rest of them guarded her beloved Lion she took everywhere. 

“I hate the North, it’s too cold,” muttered Joffrey to Sandor. Sandor grunted but didn’t say anything. To be honest, Sandor embraced the cold. He liked it - even if it froze off his fucking balls (his words) - and Y/n agreed. 

They’ve been on the road to Winterfell for months - since Robert just had to take the whole bloody court and Cersei with her double-decker wheelhouse - and in those months Sandor and Y/n met every night in their tents to drink. 

Y/n was only 5 years old when Sandor came to Casterly Rock to pledge himself to House Lannister. In fact, she was the one who first approached Sandor at the gates when Lannister guards upper handed him. Her father was in a meeting discussing war plans with his fellow lords and her uncle Kevan, so Y/n was ‘in charge’ of everything. When the guards upper handed Sandor, Y/n had them bring him in and the girl still could remember Sandor’s 12-year-old face of shock that this tiny 5-year-old girl with a ‘big fucking lion’ was talking to him with authority and superiority. 

“Do you need another fur, Joffrey?” Y/n asked her young nephew when he complained about the cold once again. The blonde prince glared at his aunt at her mocking tone while Sandor had to drink out of his wineskin to stop himself from laughing. 

The company had to stop for the night and they quickly put up tents and started up fires. Guards sang around their fires, and drank themselves away while a young squire sang _‘The Rains of Castamere’._

Y/n however, wasn’t drinking that night. No, her arm kept hurting. Burning. She pulled up the sleeves of her nightgown, looking at the burning flesh. A pulling sensation crept up on her and Y/n had to bite her bottom lip from screaming. 

They were only 30 miles away from Winterfell, and each mile they made, the burning became hotter. 

  
  


* * *

“Look! There it is! Winterfell!” Thomas shouted from the wheelhouse he, his mother, cousins, and Aunt Cersei occupied. Y/n smiled at her nephew as he hung out the window of the wheelhouse while his mother scolded him. 

Even Joffrey was excited. Robert was booming and Y/n noticed how tense Jamie was as he rode. Sandor had on his dog helm and she teased him about it making a smile form on Sandor’s face. Soon the company came to the gates of Winterfell and Y/n watched as the company of silver, gold, and polished silver. The company of three-hundred riders with the banners of a crowned stag was blowing in the northern wind. 

The company rode in, Robert in the front with Joffrey, Jamie, Sandor, Tyrion and Y/n flanked behind him. As Y/n rode in, she had to bite her tongue from screaming as the pain became seething. They ride in, passing the commoners of Winterfell as they stand and watch as the King and his company ride through. Y/n can hear whispers, but she pays no mind to them. All she can focus on is the searing pain. She closes her eyes and murmurs a small prayer to the gods before opening them and inhaling deeply before putting her attention to the line of Starks waiting for them. 

They rode closer and closer and Y/n could feel her heart racing. Robert and his two kings guard rode in through the gates first, then Jamie, Joffrey, Sandor, Tyrion, then Y/n. 

Y/n watched as one of the Stark girls with auburn hair and Tully blue eyes watched her nephew Joffery and for some reason and unwanted feeling crept up her spine. Once they stop in front of the awaiting Starks, Robert rides up to them and the Starks and the household of the Starks bow down for their King. A squire ran up to Robert and held the reins of his horse, steadying him. Robert got off his warhorse and marched up to Lord Stark, wiggling his fingers for them to rise. Lord Stark rose and then the rest of his family and household rose as well. 

“Your Grace,” 

Robert looks over Lord Stark before saying: “You got fat,” 

The courtyard is silent as they all watch the fat king interact with Lord Stark before Robert gives a booming laugh and gives Lord Stark a bone-crunching hug. 

“Ned! Ah, but it’s good to see that frozen face of yours,” The king looked him over top to bottom, and laughed again. “You have not changed at all.”

Lord Stark overlooked his old friend, noticing his gut and dark circles. “Your Grace. Winterfell is yours.” 

By then the others were dismounting as well, and grooms were coming forward for their mounts. Cersei came in on foot with Tommen and Myrcella with her with Tysha, Thomas, and 5 month-year-old Genevieve. The wheelhouse in which they had ridden, a huge double-decked carriage of oiled oak and gilded metal pulled by forty heavy draft horses, was too wide to pass through the castle gate. 

Cersei came up to Lord Stark as he knelt down in the snow and kissed her ring while Robert embraced Lady Stark like a long lost sister. Y/n and her brothers also got off their mounts while Robert was introduced to the Stark children. 

No sooner had those formalities of greeting been completed than the king had said to his host, “Take me down to your crypt, Eddard. I would pay my respects.” 

Y/n watched as her sister’s face soured at that. Lord Stark called for a lantern as Cersei began to protest. “We’ve been riding since dawn, my love, everyone is tired and cold, surely we should refresh ourselves first. The dead could wait.” Robert gave Cersei a glare and for once, Y/n felt a protective instinct rise up in her. She would not let this fat oaf of a king abuse and humiliate her sister. Jamie came up to Cersei and whispered something in her ear before taking her quietly by the arm and she said no more. 

Lord Stark took Robert down to the crypts and Y/n looked over at Tyrion who was speaking with Tysha and his children quietly. 

Y/n felt someone staring at her and she turned her head towards Lady Stark and her children. Behind the eldest boy was another boy next to what Y/n assumed to be the last living son of Balon Greyjoy, the other boy had black curls, a clean-shaven face, and dark grey eyes. When their eyes met, a spark flowed through her body and she felt herself become dizzy. 

“Jamie,” whispered Y/n to her older brother. Jamie turned his head towards Y/n, his eyes were wide in alarm. “Jamie,” Y/n repeated, louder this time. She felt light-headed and instead of feeling her arm being burnt, she felt something being written, like a quill in her arm, but instead of a quill, it was a blade. 

“Jamie,” tears sprouted into her eyes and Jamie rushed up to her and placed his hands on her arms. “It hurts,” she whispered and looked down onto her arm. Jamie’s brows furrowed. 

“What is it?” Y/n didn’t answer her brother, she turned her head to stare at the boy with dark hair. Her soul felt _alive_. Like it was _complete._

Y/n pushed her brother's hands away from her arms and pulled up her golden dress sleeve, near the name she’s traced for ten years, was another name beside it. 

_ Jon Snow  _

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is an AU and a soulmate one at that, I really wanted to give Tyrion Tysha. One because I think he deserves something and having a person that actually really loved him would mean the absolute world to Tyrion (besides Jamie and you that is). Since we only know so much about Tysha, I've tried my best to capture her in the best way possible. The next chapter will have more Lannister family moments, some SanSan, and Tysha x Tyrion. Thanks for reading! xx


	4. 𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙨

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵-𝘵𝘰-𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘋𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘓𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 (𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘳).
> 
> 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯. 𝘠/𝘯 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘺𝘸𝘪𝘯 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘑𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵. 
> 
> 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦. 𝘛𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱, 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘠/𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘓𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘜𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘦 𝘒𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘯, 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘛𝘺𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦. 
> 
> (Soulmate AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you'll enjoy today's chapter. In this chapter, I tried to capture the reader's insecurities of being rejected, and I hope I captured it well. Also, when I think of Winterfell, I'm thinking of book Winterfell. Not that tiny castle in GoT. I hope you'll enjoy, thanks for reading! x

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙁𝙤𝙪𝙧: 𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙨

𝙔/𝙣 𝙇𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧

Y/n stared at the inky last name on her arm.

_Snow._

_So he’s a bastard, well at least that’s good,_ thought Y/n, breathing out a sigh. Jamie looked at his little sister and Y/n looked up at him. He was taller than her, by a foot at least, and whenever she wished to look upon him, she had to stretch her neck. She noticed her brother’s green eyes wander down to her arm and saw how his beautiful eyes widened at the sight of a name on her skin.

“My Queen, may I lead you and your family to their chambers?” asked Lady Stark. Cersei nodded her head politely. “Please, follow me, your Grace,” Cersei turned her head and gave her siblings a look that said: “Come on then,” and she started following after Lady Stark. The Household of Winterfell made a pathway for the Queen and her family, and Y/n watched how the boy with black curls faded away, his head inclined so low that he missed the glare that Lady Stark sent his way.

Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, _why was Lady Stark glaring at this boy of 10 and 4?_

Once the royal family entered the castle of Winterfell, Y/n instantly felt warm. Like someone lit a thousand fires and let them burn until the embers grew cold. Tyrion made a comment about the warmness of Winterfell and Lady Stark replied: “Winterfell is built over natural hot springs, Lord Tyrion. The water is piped through walls and the chambers to heat them. You’ll find your rooms to be quite warm I assure you.” 

Y/n looked at Lady Stark with a raised brow. “You have a small Sept, Lady Stark,” she commented. “I thought the Northmen kept to the Old Gods?” Lady Stark turned her head and stopped before a wooden door with an iron handle. “They do . . .” she trailed off and Cersei rolled her eyes. “Oh yes, I forgot,” she said absentmindedly. “Lady Stark, this is my youngest sibling, Lady Y/n Lannister, youngest daughter of Tywin and Joanna Lannister,” 

Lady Stark’s Tully blue eyes overlooked Y/n, from her hair to her face, to the golden dress with Myrish lace, to the brown wolf pelt she wore over her shoulders and down her back like a cape. 

“I’m sorry, My Lady, that I did not know who you are,” she apologized sweetly, but Y/n knew that her kindness was not real. Lady Stark greatly reminded Y/n of her sister; Lysa Arryn.

Lysa and Lady Stark both sported the Tully hair and eyes, however, Lysa’s face was pale and puffy, Lady Stark had high cheekbones and a thin face. But there was one thing the Tully sister’s had in common, the hateful disdain for Lannisters. Y/n could see it in her eyes. The hate that she had for her lion family. She hated them, and Y/n made a mental note to keep a very close eye of Lady Stark. 

“It’s quite alright,” began Y/n. “I’m the youngest out of my siblings, and I have done no great things yet, Lady Stark. It is only natural that you have no idea who I am.” she finished with a smile. Lady Stark’s smile faltered at the tone in Y/n’s voice before plastering on the biggest fake smile she could muster. 

“This is your quarters, My Queen,” she opened the door and gestured for Cersei to walk in. She did with her youngest children and Jamie followed after her. Y/n didn’t have to be next to Cersei to know that her eldest sister hated the room. 

“How lovely,” said Cersei. Tommen rushed to the window and looked out to see Winterfell in its glory. Myrcella just stayed by her mother’s side, unsure what to do. 

“Where shall my brothers and sister’s sleep?” she asked Lady Stark. 

“Next to your quarters My Queen.” 

Lady Stark walked to the room next to Cersei’s and opened the door. It was smaller but warm all the same. “This is for you, Lord Tyrion, and your wife and children.” Tyrion nodded his head. “Thank you Lady Stark,” she nodded her head before showing where Jamie and Y/n would be staying, across from Tyrion’s and Cersei’s rooms. 

“If you need anything at all, please use the servants,” Cersei cut Lady Stark off. “We will.” The Tully woman closed her mouth and pressed it into a thin line before doing a curtsy and leaving the Lannister siblings to their rooms. 

“What a hideous room,” complained Cersei. “I do hope this visit is quick and short,” Y/n said nothing, she just walked into her own room and closed the door. She needed to think. 

* * *

  
  
  


A knock came at the door later that day, making Y/n look up from the letter she was writing to her father. “Who is it?” she asked. “It’s Jamie,” Y/n sighed. Of course, it was Jamie, he saw the  name, and now he wanted answers. She placed the quill down and got up from her chair and walked across the threshold of her room and opened up the door. Jamie stood in the door frame, glaring at the wooden door. He still wore his armor and his hand rested on the hilt of his sword as if he was expecting an attack. 

“Come in Jamie,” Y/n stepped out of the way and Jamie marched in. She took a deep breath before closing the door and turning to face her older brother. Jamie’s usually warm and welcoming eyes were cold and full of anger. Y/n opened her mouth but he held his hand up, interrupting her. 

“You have a soul mark.” Y/n nodded her head. “Yes.” Jamie’s upper lip twitched. “How long have you’ve had the full name?” he asked, his hand balled up into a fist at his side. “Only a few hours,” 

“That boy, with dark hair and eyes, he’s your soulmate?” she nodded. “I believe so.” 

Jamie sighed and rubbed his forehead. “What are you going to do?” he asked. She had no answer. She honestly had no idea what she was going to do about it. It was why she wrote to her Lord Father for guidance and answers. 

“I don’t know,” she spoke. “Father always said we would make the decisions when I’ve met my soulmate, and he’s not here. For once in my life, when I need him, he’s not here.” she looked down at her hands. 

“Father is a cold man, who rarely shows his feelings and affections, but I miss and love him dearly,” Jamie stared at her face. “Jamie, I don’t know what to do.” 

Tears sprouted in her eyes and she could not hold them back. Quiet sobs echoed through the room and Jamie opened his arms, bringing her to his chest and she cried. 

“Shh, it’s alright, Little Cub, we’ll figure it out,” he said, using his nickname for her. “It’s alright,” 

Jamie dried her tears and Y/n was hit with memories of her childhood. How Jamie was her knight in shining armor, her protector, and her big brother. 

“I’m sorry for not telling you, Jamie,” she said into his chest. His hand brushed her hair back as he listened to what she had to say. “I wanted to tell you and Tyrion, but I didn’t want to admit that I had a weakness. I didn’t want another reason for Cersei to despise me.” Jamie nodded his head and Y/n looked up from his chest. “You don’t hate me, right?” he shook his head. “I could never hate you, Y/n.” 

She buried her face in his chest again, nuzzling her head against the doublet.“Thank you, Jamie, for listening.” 

“Of course,” 

* * *

“You should wear the golden off-the-shoulder dress,” said Tysha. Y/n looked at her goodsister and smiled. “Yes, that would go very well with the lion pendant father had made for me.” Y/n walked over to the small chest she brought that had all her jewelry and brought out the necklace. The chain was pure gold as was the head of the lion, but the eyes were emerald. 

“It’s perfect,” Tysha said with a smile and brushed a few strands of her black hair behind her ear. Y/n didn’t answer, she just stared at the necklace, missing her father. 

“Y/n? Are you alright?” she nodded and smiled weakly at Tysha.”Yes, I’m fine.” Tysha walked closer to Y/n and brought her hands to Y/n’s face. “Are you sure?” she whispered. 

Y/n sighed and bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know.” Tysha’s sculpted brows knitted closely together on her forehead and Y/n pulled the sleeve of her gown up to show her the name. 

Tysha’s blue eyes trailed up to her arm and settled on the name written in perfect cursive. 

“Oh sweetling, is this what’s been bothering you?” Y/n nodded her head. Tysha’s hands fell from her face and she took Y/n’s hands in hers. “Who is he?” 

“A bastard. Lord Stark’s bastard apparently,” muttered Y/n. Her eyes glared at the name. “How do you know?” Tysha asked. 

“Apparently Tyrion has gotten himself acquainted with Lord Stark’s bastard. He’s the one who told him who he was.” Tysha sighed and mumbled to herself about her husband's antics of making friends with those who are broken. 

“Do you want him?” there it was. The question that Y/n was turning over and over in her head.  _ Do I want him? I don’t know. Does he want me?  _

“I don’t know Tysha. I really don’t know. What if he doesn’t want a soulmate?” Y/n sighed and looked at their interlocked hands before continuing. “Father told me when I was younger that when you’ve met your soulmate you feel like your soul is complete. Alive. Whole.” 

Y/n looked back up into Tysha’s blue eyes. “I didn’t believe him. I told myself I would never find my soulmate, that I would deny him. But just being in this giant castle makes my soul yearn for him. I can feel the pull inside my chest.” 

She looked over at the golden dress that was laid out on one of the chairs in her room. 

“I don’t know what to do. Do I confront him? Or do I just simply leave him alone?” 

“I don’t know, Y/n, each pair of soulmates are different. For Tyrion and I, it was by chance and adrenaline that made us come together. For you, it might be the same, or different.” explained Tysha. 

Y/n nodded her head in understanding. “Now,” Tysha gave her a comforting smile. “Let’s get you ready to impress your soulmate,” she wiggled her brows and Y/n laughed, clutching her abdominal as she laughed joyfully. Her sorrows, nearly forgotten. 

* * *

Lord Stark entered the Great Hall with Y/n’s sister on his arm first. Cersei was smiling and acting happy all while avoiding looking at Lord Stark, even as he helped her up the steps to the dais and led her to her seat. Next came Robert with Lady Stark, he was already halfway into his cups and was sweating and red-faced from all the wine he consumed. 

After them, then came the children, the youngest of the Stark children walked as best as a three-year-old could muster. Y/n watched with a smile on her lips as the little boy stopped and greeted her soulmate and he had to urge the little boy to go on. Next came the eldest in grey wool trimmed with white - Stark colors, Y/n mused to herself - with Myrcella on his arm. Her golden hair was a cascade of curls with a jeweled net over them. As they walked down the line of tables, Y/n noticed how Myrcella gave shy looks to the older boy and the timid way she would smile at him. She giggled quietly as the boy was too grinning like a fool. 

After them, Tommen was with the youngest Stark girl, and Y/n could tell how annoyed she was to be there, escorting her darling nephew. Next came the eldest Stark girl, Sansa, she sported her mother’s Tully’s colors as did the eldest boy, and she escorted Joffrey. He, of course, had a pouty look on his face and the bored, disdainful way he looked at the people of the North. Y/n wanted to smack that idiot boy across the face. Sansa was radiant, dressed in a gown she made herself - well that’s what Myrcella told her anyways - and Y/n smiled at the girl. She was the  definition of the Maiden. And as she walked with Joffrey, Y/n couldn’t help but notice the looks Sandor was throwing the girl. 

Next came Jamie and Y/n, he held out his arm and she looped her arm through his. They walked down the tables and Y/n could hear the whispers starting. Women whispered about her dress, how beautiful it was, and how the gold fabric made her look like she was bathing in gold. It's true, it did make her feel like she was bathing in gold. The dress was off-the-shoulder, reveling her collarbone and the long sleeves were embroidered with a floral design. The bodice also was embroidered with the same design. The lion pendant hung around her neck and rested in the valley of her breasts. The gold cloak dragged behind her as she walked. Jamie looked incredibly handsome, with his crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance.

Y/n could feel the eyes of everyone as she walked, but only one particular pair of eyes caught her attention. The dark Stark grey eyes that watched her, made goose flesh appear on her skin and a shiver danced down her spine. Her eyes met his and she felt it again, the pull. Her heart pounded against her chest. Her soul felt alive. And her feelings became electric. How could anyone - especially her - stop this feeling? This pull. This was the will of the Gods, and no mortal could ever oppose the power and sheer will of them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be in Jon's POV and FYI, it's going to be a long one. Thank you for reading, comment, and leave kudos if you're enjoying this soulmate AU! x


	5. 𝘼𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙞𝙨𝙝

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 𝘈𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 𝘑𝘰𝘯, 𝘓𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘞𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘴 𝘖𝘩 𝘮𝘺! 𝘈𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 ;)
> 
> 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯. 𝘠/𝘯 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘺𝘸𝘪𝘯 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘑𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵. 
> 
> 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦. 𝘛𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱, 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘠/𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘓𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘜𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘦 𝘒𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘯, 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘛𝘺𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦. 
> 
> (Soulmate AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, happy weekend. I hope all is well <3 This chapter is pretty long, like 6,307 words, and its entirely in Jon's pov. So get ready for some angsty Jon. I hope you'll enjoy today's/tonight's chapter, xoxo.
> 
> (Chapter Edited: 6/29/2020)

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙁𝙞𝙫𝙚: 𝘼𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙞𝙨𝙝

𝙅𝙤𝙣 𝙎𝙣𝙤𝙬

Jon hated being a bastard. He was hated and treated terribly by Lady Stark - his Lord father's wife and Lady - and her daughter, Sansa Stark. Sansa wasn't as bad as her Lady Mother but ignored him all the same. Arya however, loved him all the same. She didn't care about him being a bastard. He was her brother, and that was that. His half-brothers thought the same, though Robb was more aware of his mother's mistreatment to Jon.

When Jon was just a babe, the kitchen wenches and maids would gossip about him and his looks. How he looked more Stark than any of Lady's Stark's children - well except for Arya - and Jon remembered the hated looks she would throw his way. She wanted him dead. There was no use in hiding it, she wished to see his body cold and lifeless. She would leap for joy at the prospect of receiving his dead body.

After living with her mistreatment for 5 years of his life, Jon learned that it was better if he avoided Lady Stark. So he would leave the castle, go to the Godswood and pray or sit against the ancient Weirwood tree. It was Jon's 6th name day when he woke up to an unbearable pain shoot down his arm. He screamed and screamed loud and hard, waking little Sansa and making Lady Stark angry. His Lord Father rushed to his room and knelt beside Jon's bedside.

He still remembers the hot angry tears that fell from his dark grey eyes and the rawness of his throat as he screamed.

Little Jon had pulled the wool shirt sleeve up and his eyes widened at the sight of a name embedded in his skin. He asked his father what it was and that was when Jon first learned of soulmates.

Lord Stark explained to Jon about the will of the Old Gods and how they would bless certain children with mates, like wolves. He told Jon about how when you meet or see your soulmate for the first time their second name would appear next to their first.

For once in his little life, Jon was happy. He was excited that he had a soulmate out in the world. Someone who would love him, and wouldn't care that he's a bastard. After the pain went away, Jon traced the letters of his name. Y/n. His soulmate's name was Y/n.

That morning, Jon went to the Great Hall and his father presented Jon with his very first wolf pelt and congratulated him about having a name. Lady Stark hated Jon even more after that morning. When Robb's 6th name day came, he wasn't blessed with a name like Jon was. Another thing Jon had that Robb did not. Though Robb could care less about soulmates, and he didn't want a name. He wanted to choose the woman, not have the Gods make his choice.

For years, when he felt alone and like an outsider, he would trace the name on his skin, and feel warmth and love echoing from it. Whoever this person was, he loved them already.

It was Jon a fortnight after his 6th name day when his father approached him. He wanted Jon to start training with Ser Rodrick Cassel. Jon was ecstatic and he promised his father that he would make him proud. Lord Stark chuckled and placed his hand over Jon's shoulder. "Make them proud, Jon," he said while looking down at Jon's covered arm where his name rested.

Ser Rodrick trained him, every day after his lessons with Maester Luwin - who also hated him, but didn't outwardly expose it - and he trained Jon hard. When he was sword playing with Robb, he overheard Ser Rodrick boast and praise Jon for his hard work and determination.

As the years drained on, Jon trained, learned, and traced the name of his soulmate. He couldn't stop himself from reaching out his hand and tracing each letter on his skin. When Lady Stark would yell and scold him for being a bastard and take things away - without his father noticing - he would gain some satisfaction that no matter what Lady Stark took away - she could not take away the name written on his skin. No matter how much she despised him. No matter how much she would wish he was dead. No matter what, she could never take away the person the Gods gave him. 

* * *

"Why's your mother so dead-set on us getting pretty for the king?" Jon asked Robb, as he leaned against the heated walls of Winterfell. Robb sat on a wooden stool as Tommy shaved Robb's face. "It's for the queen, I bet," comments Theon. The Greyjoy boy was leaning against the door frame, shirtless, and waiting for his turn. "I hear she's sleek as a mink," Jon rolled his eyes at the 10 and 9 boy. Theon was always crass and he only ever had one thing on his mind; girls. He sometimes would brag about the girls he slept with to Robb and Jon and make fun of Jon for his oath of not sleeping with any girl but his soulmate.

"I hear the prince is a right royal prick," Robb says, his Tully blue eyes meeting Jon's dark grey ones. Robb was the only one who currently knew of the burning sensation he would get around the name. Almost like it was on fire.

"Think of all those southern girls he gets to stab with his right royal prick," Robb stood up and pushed Jon towards Tommy while laughing. "Go on Tommy, shave him good. He's never met a girl he likes better than his own hair," Theon laughs while Jon winces and closes his eyes as Tommy starts cutting his hair.

As Tommy works, Jon can't help but think about the impending arrival of the King and Queen, and their party. All his life, he's heard the great stories of King Robert and his bravery. He's heard his half-sister, Sansa, talking all about Queen Cersei and her golden-haired son, the crown prince. And now that he was going to see them with his own eyes excited him.

"There ya go," Tommy pushed Jon off the stool and he raised a hand to touch his hair as Theon took a seat. "Go on, Snow, Rodrick will want ya," Jon nodded and put his shirt back on. 

* * *

Jon stood behind his Lord Father in the courtyard of Winterfell, with Theon right beside him. His Lord Father stood tall and proud with his Lady wife next him dressed in her furs. Robb stood next to his father with Sansa after him, then Arya and Bran. Rickon stood next to Lady Stark, and he was practically bouncing in excitement.

When the first rider rode into Winterfell's gates holding the banner of the King, Jon watched as the rest of the party - knights, kings guards, personal shields - rode into his Lord father's home. Many riders caught his attention, a rider wearing a helmet shaped like the head of a hound baring his K-9's. A rider with golden hair, gold armor, a white cloak, and green eyes. Jamie Lannister, The Kingslayer. Jon's eyes watched each rider until his eyes landed on one rider, that caught Jon's attention the most. A young woman rode behind Tyrion Lannister; The Imp. She had golden h/c hair, with shiny e/c eyes and she rode proudly. A couple of soldiers - that did not match the rest of the Kings party - rode behind the girl. A man with copper hair and tan skin rode behind the girl and glared at anyone that dared look upon her, and when the man's eyes locked onto Jon, Jon thought he might piss himself.

The King rode in and he got off his warhorse and walked to his father. Lord Stark bowed and so did Jon, following the rest of the Stark household. Once the King waved his hand, his father stood up and Jon followed. He watched as his father and the fat King greeted one another, and Jon was instantly disappointed with the King.

This is who his father boasted about? Jon shook his head and watched as a woman with golden hair and green eyes walked up to his father and let him kiss her ring. This was the Queen, Cersei Lannister. Her youngest children were behind her, but another woman walked behind the Queen and was greeting the imp. Jon had no idea who she was.

Once his father took King Robert down to the crypts, Jon found himself staring at the young woman standing near Jamie Lannister; The Kingslayer. His arm was hurting and he wanted to scream, but he wouldn't dare cause a scene and humiliate Lady Stark and himself. She would never forgive him. Gods, she barely forgave him now, being a bastard and all.

Jon was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't realize the girl was staring at him, her eyes locked on his dark grey eyes. When their eyes met, he felt like a flame engulfed him in dragon fire. There was a pain in his arm and the young girl whispered something and Ser Jamie Lannister came up to her. They talked quietly before the girl pushed his arms away and pulled up her sleeve and her eyes became wide.

Jon also felt a searing pain, like someone was using a blade to write something in his skin and he rolled up his own sleeve to find another name beside Y/n.

_Y/n Lannister._

He gasped quietly, but his gasp graced Theon's ears, making the older boy glare at him.

"My Queen, may I lead you and your family to their chambers?" asked Lady Stark. The Queen nodded her head politely. "Please, follow me, your Grace," The Queen turned her head and gave her siblings a look before she started following after Lady Stark. The Household of Winterfell - including Jon - made a pathway for the Queen and her family. Jon tried to disappear and bowed his head so low that he could only see his feet. When the girl - his soulmate - walked by he felt a pull. He wanted to rush up to her and kiss her hard before kidnapping her and take her away, as the Wildings do. Jon didn't have to look at Lady Stark to feel the glare she was throwing his way and he didn't want to think about her. He should be rejoicing, he found his soulmate.

But the only thing he could focus on was that she was highborn, and a Lannister at that. He never heard of a Lannister named Y/n, but seeing her in that golden dress of hers and her head held high, she looked the part of being a Lannister.

And he was a bastard. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just a poor bastard boy. He couldn't give her anything. No lands, titles, nothing except his heart. If they did get married, their children would be named Snow. He would not father any bastard. No.

Jon decided at that moment, he would not complete the soulmate bond. He will ignore her, and he will not marry or father children. When Uncle Benjen arrives, I'll tell him and Father what I want. I'll join the Night's Watch, and become a sworn brother. 

Jon sat near the Kennels with Ghost next to him. The direwolf pup yipped and barked playfully at Jon. The bastard smiled at his albino direwolf. It was quiet here in the Kennels, the only noise here was the snores, pitter-patter of paws, and the occasional bark of the dogs in the cages. A shuffling in the snow caught Jon's attention and he watched as a dwarf - no the Imp - walked inside the kennels with a little boy with blonde hair and blue eyes walking behind him.

"Father, what are we doing here?" the little boy questioned. "We're running an errand for your Aunt Y/n, Thomas." the Imp explained shortly. "But what are we doing in the Kennels?"

"Y/n wants to make sure the Kennels are okay for her pet lion of course. Lord Stark agreed to house him in the kennels - we just have to find the cage he was talking about." The Imp muttered the last bit to himself but Jon heard anyway.

Ghost growled as the two Lannnisters walked closer to Jon, gaining the attention of the little boy. "Oooh!" The Imp watched as Jon stood up, a glare in his Stark grey eyes. "Ah, perhaps this boy can help us, Thomas. Excuse me boy, but where can we find this -"

"I'm not a boy," muttered Jon. The Imp raised a brow. "Well, you're certainly not a man. But you're also not a child like my son is. Which makes you what? A pubescent child?"

The little boy didn't care what his father and Jon were bickering about, all he cared about was the white wolf beside Jon's legs.

The Imp watched them carefully before speaking: "Boy, is that animal a wolf?" Jon turned his head towards him. "A direwolf," Jon said. "His name is Ghost." The Imp walked forward, getting a bit too close to Jon for Ghost's liking, and growled at the dwarf, making Thomas gasp and huddle closer to his father.

"I believe I've frightened your wolf. My apologies."

"He's not scared," Jon said. He knelt and called out. "Ghost, come here. Come on. That's it." The wolf pup padded closer and nuzzled at Jon's face, but he kept a wary eye on Tyrion Lannister and his son, and when the dwarf reached out to pet him, he drew back and bared his fangs in a silent snarl. Thomas gasped once more, looking at his father before staring at Jon.

"Shy, isn't he?" Lannister observed.

"Sit, Ghost," Jon commanded. "That's it. Keep still." He looked up at the dwarf. "You both can touch him now. He won't move until I tell him to. I've been training him."

"I see," Lannister said. He ruffled the snow-white fur between Ghost's ears and said, "Nice wolf." Thomas giggled and looked up at Jon. "Can I pet him?" his blue eyes widening. Jon turned his head towards the boy and nodded. "Sure, just be careful," Thomas giggled sweetly and held his hand out, letting the direwolf sniff his small hand. Ghost sniffed it before licking his hand, making Thomas shriek in delight. Jon watched, fondly, and for a moment his mind wandered about having his own kids, teaching them how to fight and - no. Jon shook his head. No, he thought, get your head out of the snow.

"He's so soft!" exclaimed Thomas, happily. Jon found himself smiling back. "That he is." As Jon watched both father and snow give affection to Ghost, Jon found himself being choked up on jealousy. He never did that. No, his Lord Father was too busy, well that's what Lady Stark would always say. When he got older, he found out that his Lord Father was busy, but he did have time to be with his children - his trueborn children that is. He stopped asking Lady Stark after figuring that out.

"If I wasn't here, he'd tear out both of your throats," Jon said, unable to keep this moment of father and son pure with happiness. He was too jealous and angry at the moment. Even though it wasn't actually true yet, but it would be. "In that case, you had best stay close," the dwarf said. He cocked his oversized head to one side and looked Jon over with his mismatched eyes. "I am Tyrion Lannister, and this is my son, Thomas Lannister."

"I know who you are, but not your son," Jon said. dwarf. Tyrion overlooked him. "You're Ned Stark's bastard, aren't you?" Jon felt a coldness pass right through him. He pressed his lips together and said nothing. "Did I offend you?" Lannister said. "Sorry. Dwarfs don't have to be tactful. Generations of capering fools in motley have won me the right to dress badly and say any damn thing that comes into my head." He grinned. "You _are_ the bastard, though." Thomas didn't look up at his father or Jon, he stayed content that he was playing with a direwolf.

"Lord Eddard Stark is my father," Jon admitted stiffly. Lannister studied his face. "Yes," he said. "I can see it. You have more of the north in you than your brothers."

"Half brothers," Jon corrected. He was pleased by the dwarf's comment, but he tried not to let it show. "Let me give you some counsel, bastard," Lannister said. "Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you."

Jon was in no mood for anyone's counsel. "What do you know about being a bastard?"

This caught Thomas's eye, as he stood and looked at Jon.

"All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes," explained Lannister.

"You are your mother's trueborn son of Lannister," said Jon, his voice tinged with hurt and longing at the notion of knowing his own mother.

"Am I?" the dwarf replied, sardonic. "Do tell my lord father. My mother died birthing Y/n - he never got an answer you see -, and he's never been sure."

"I don't even know who my mother was," Jon said. "Some woman, no doubt. Most of them are." He favored Jon with a rueful grin. "Remember this, boy. All dwarfs may be bastards, yet not all bastards need be dwarfs." And with that, he turned towards his son. "Come, Thomas, let us go back to your dear Aunt Y/n, that the kennels are no place for her majestic lion."

Jon watched as both of them walked out of the kennels, Tyrion whistling a tune. 

* * *

There were times—not many, but a few—when Jon _Snow_ was glad he was a bastard. As he filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon, it struck him that this might be one of them.

He settled back in his place on the bench among the younger squires and drank. The sweet, fruity taste of summer wine filled his mouth and brought a smile to his lips.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. Its grey stone walls were draped with banners. White, gold, crimson: the direwolf of Stark, Baratheon’s crowned stag, the lion of Lannister.

A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down at this end of the hall, his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations.

It was the fourth hour of the welcoming feast laid for the king. Jon’s brothers and sisters had been seated with the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord and Lady Stark hosted the king and queen. In honor of the occasion, his lord father would doubtless permit each child a glass of wine, but no more than that. Down here on the benches, there was no one to stop Jon drinking as much as he had a thirst for. And he was finding that he had a man’s thirst, to the raucous delight of the youths around him, who urged him on every time he drained a glass. They were a fine company, and Jon relished the stories they were telling, tales of battle and bedding, and the hunt. He was certain that his companions were more entertaining than the king’s offspring. He had stated his curiosity about the visitors when they made their entrance.

The procession had passed not a foot from the place he had been given on the bench, and Jon had gotten a good long look at them all. His lord father had come first, escorting the queen. She was as beautiful as men said. A jeweled tiara gleamed amidst her long golden hair, its emeralds a perfect match for the green of her eyes. His father helped her up the steps to the dais and led her to her seat, but the queen never so much as looked at him. Even at fourteen, Jon could see through her smile.

Next had come King Robert himself, with Lady Stark on his arm. The king was a great disappointment to Jon. His father had talked of him often: the peerless Robert Baratheon, demon of the Trident, the fiercest warrior of the realm, a giant among princes. Jon saw only a fat man, red-faced under his beard, sweating through his silks. He walked like a man half in his cups.

After them came the children. Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had to urge him on when he stopped to visit. Close behind came Robb, in grey wool trimmed with white, the Stark colors. He had the Princess Myrcella on his arm. She was a wisp of a girl, not quite eight, her hair a cascade of golden curls under a jeweled net. Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was insipid. Robb didn’t even have the sense to realize how stupid she was; he was grinning like a fool.

His half-sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon’s vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister’s hair and his mother’s deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey’s pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell’s Great Hall.

He was more interested in the pair that came behind him: the queen’s brothers, the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. The Lion and the Imp; there was no mistaking which was which.

Ser Jaime Lannister was the twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance. They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered “Kingslayer” behind his back. Jon found it hard to look away from him. This is what a king should look like, he thought to himself as the man passed.

Next to him was his soulmate. She wore a golden dress that showed off her shoulders - to which Jon had to adjust his pants at the sight of her skin and the cleavage of her breasts he saw when she walked by him - with a long cape flowing behind her. Jon could see a golden lion pendant with emeralds for the eyes rested in the valley of her breasts. The dress had a floral design on her bodice and the sleeves of the dress. She wore a sincere smile - unlike the queen’s smile - and held onto her brother’s arm as they walked. She was graceful and beautiful, unlike any woman he’s ever seen. When their eyes met - Jon felt a longing emotion flood through him. He wanted to hold her and kiss her. He felt desire.

Once she sat down next to her siblings, then came the dwarf he met earlier that day; Tyrion Lannister with a tall woman of black hair and blue eyes at his side. Tyrion Lannister, the youngest of Lord Tywin’s brood, and by far the ugliest. All that the gods had given to Cersei and Jaime, they had denied Tyrion. He was a dwarf, half his brother’s height, struggling to keep pace on stunted legs. His head was too large for his body, with a brute’s squashed-in face beneath a swollen shelf of brow. One green eye and one black one peered out from under a lank fall of hair so blond it seemed white. But the woman, she looked on at the Imp with love in her eyes. She wore a blue gown with two golden embroidered fish facing one another, and a white fox fur around her shoulders and Jon just didn’t understand how such a beautiful woman could love a man like the Imp, but Jon watched on with fascination.

The last of the high lords to enter was his uncle, Benjen Stark of the Night’s Watch, and his father’s ward, young Theon Greyjoy. Benjen gave Jon a warm smile as he went by. Theon ignored him utterly, but there was nothing new in that. After all, had been seated, toasts were made, thanks were given and returned, and then the feasting began.

Jon had started drinking then, and he had not stopped. 

Something rubbed against his leg beneath the table. Jon saw red eyes staring up at him. “Hungry again?” he asked. There was still half a honeyed chicken in the center of the table. Jon reached out to tear off a leg, then had a better idea. He knifed the bird whole and let the carcass slide to the floor between his legs. Ghost ripped into it in savage silence. His brothers and sisters had not been permitted to bring their wolves to the banquet, but there were more curs than Jon could count at this end of the hall, and no one had said a word about his pup. He told himself he was fortunate in that too.

His eyes stung. Jon rubbed at them savagely, cursing the smoke. He swallowed another gulp of wine and watched his direwolf devour the chicken. Dogs moved between the tables, trailing after the serving girls. One of them, a black mongrel bitch with long yellow eyes, caught the scent of the chicken. She stopped and edged under the bench to get a share. Jon watched the confrontation. The bitch growled low in her throat and moved closer. Ghost looked up, silent, and fixed the dog with those hot red eyes. The bitch snapped an angry challenge. She was three times the size of the direwolf pup. Ghost did not move. He stood over his prize and opened his mouth, baring his fangs. The bitch tensed, barked again, then thought better of this fight. She turned and slunk away, with one last defiant snap to save her pride. Ghost went back to his meal. Jon grinned and reached under the table to ruffle the shaggy white fur. The direwolf looked up at him, nipped gently at his hand, then went back to eating.

“Is this one of the direwolves I’ve heard so much of?” a familiar voice asked close at hand. Jon looked up happily as his uncle Ben put a hand on his head and ruffled his hair much as Jon had ruffled the wolf’s. “Yes,” he said. “His name is Ghost.”

One of the squires interrupted the bawdy story he’d been telling to make room at the table for their lord’s brother.

Benjen Stark straddled the bench with long legs and took the wine cup out of Jon’s hand. “Summerwine,” he said after a taste. “Nothing so sweet. How many cups have you had, Jon?” Jon smiled.

Ben Stark laughed. “As I feared. Ah, well. I believe I was younger than you the first time I got truly and sincerely drunk.” He snagged a roasted onion, dripping brown with gravy, from a nearby trencher and bit into it. It crunched.

His uncle was sharp-featured and gaunt as a mountain crag, but there was always a hint of laughter in his blue-grey eyes. He dressed in black, as befitted a man of the Night’s Watch. Tonight it was rich black velvet, with high leather boots and a wide belt with a silver buckle. A heavy silver chain was looped round his neck. Benjen watched Ghost with amusement as he ate his onion.

“A very quiet wolf,” he observed. “He’s not like the others,” Jon said.

“He never makes a sound. That’s why I named him Ghost. That, and because he’s white. The others are all dark, grey, or black.”

“There are still direwolves beyond the Wall. We hear them on our rangings.” Benjen Stark gave Jon a long look. “Don’t you usually eat at the table with your brothers?”

“Most times,” Jon answered in a flat voice. “But tonight Lady Stark thought it might give insult to the royal family to seat a bastard among them.” Jon found his eyes looking towards his soulmate and the Lannister brothers.

“I see.” His uncle glanced over his shoulder at the raised table at the far end of the hall. “My brother does not seem very festive tonight.” Jon had noticed that too.

A bastard had to learn to notice things, to read the truth that people hid behind their eyes. His father was observing all the courtesies, but there was tightness in him that Jon had seldom seen before. He said little, looking out over the hall with hooded eyes, seeing nothing. Two seats away, the king had been drinking heavily all night. His broad face was flushed behind his great black beard. He made many a toast, laughed loudly at every jest, and attacked each dish like a starving man, but beside him, the queen seemed as cold as an ice sculpture.

“The queen is angry too,” Jon told his uncle in a low, quiet voice. “Father took the king down to the crypts this afternoon. The queen didn’t want him to go.” Benjen gave Jon a careful, measuring look. “You don’t miss much, do you, Jon? We could use a man like you on the Wall.” Jon swelled with pride. “Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I’m the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle.”

“Notable achievements.”

“Take me with you when you go back to the Wall,” Jon said in a sudden rush. “Father will give me leave to go if you ask him, I know he will.” Uncle Benjen studied his face carefully. “The Wall is a hard place for a boy, Jon.”

“I am almost a man grown,” Jon protested. “I will turn fifteen on my next name day, and Maester Luwin says bastards grow up faster than other children.”

“That’s true enough,” Benjen said with a downward twist of his mouth. He took Jon’s cup from the table, filled it fresh from a nearby pitcher, and drank down a long swallow. “Daeren Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne,” Jon said. The Young Dragon was one of his heroes. “A conquest that lasted a summer,” his uncle pointed out. “Your Boy King lost ten thousand men taking the place, and another fifty trying to hold it. Someone should have told him that war isn’t a game.” He took another sip of wine. “Also,” he said, wiping his mouth, “Daeren Targaryen was only eighteen when he died. Or have you forgotten that part?”

“I forget nothing,” Jon boasted. The wine was making him bold. He tried to sit very straight, to make himself seem taller. “I want to serve in the Night’s Watch, Uncle.” He had thought on it long and hard, lying abed at night while his brothers slept around him. Robb would someday inherit Winterfell and would command great armies as the Warden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be Robb’s bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name. His sisters Arya and Sansa would marry the heirs of other great houses and go south as mistress of castles of their own. But what place could a bastard hope to earn? Besides, Jon meant what he said. He’ll never complete the bond. He’ll never do that to his soulmate, especially now that he knows who she is.

“You don’t know what you’re asking, Jon. The Night’s Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor.”

“A bastard can have honor too,” Jon said. “I am ready to swear your oath.”

“You are a boy of fourteen,” Benjen said. “Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up. Jon. But what about your soulmate? You’ll never meet them, once you take the oath . . . there’s no going back.”

“I don’t care about that!” Jon said hotly. “You might if you knew what it meant,” Benjen said, his eyes lingering on the girl he watched Jon stare at. “If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son.”

Jon felt anger rise inside him. “I’m not your son!” Benjen Stark stood up. “More’s the pity.” He put a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Come back to me after you’ve fathered a few bastards of your own, and we’ll see how you feel.” Jon trembled. “I will never father a bastard,” he said carefully. “Never!” He spat it out like venom. Suddenly he realized that the table had fallen silent, and they were all looking at him, including _her_. He felt the tears begin to well behind his eyes. He pushed himself to his feet.

“I must be excused,” he said with the last of his dignity. He whirled and bolted before they could see him cry. He must have drunk more wine than he had realized. His feet got tangled under him as he tried to leave, and he lurched sideways into a serving girl and sent a flagon of spiced wine crashing to the floor.

Laughter boomed all around him, and Jon felt hot tears on his cheeks. Someone tried to steady him. He wrenched free of their grip and ran, half-blind, for the door. Ghost followed close at his heels, out into the night.

The yard was quiet and empty. A lone sentry stood high on the battlements of the inner wall, his cloak pulled tight around him against the cold. He looked bored and miserable as he huddled there alone, but Jon would have traded places with him in an instant. Otherwise, the castle was dark and deserted. Jon had seen an abandoned holdfast once, a drear place where nothing moved but the wind and the stones kept silent about whatever people had lived there. Winterfell reminded him of that tonight.

The sounds of music and song spilled through the open windows behind him. They were the last things Jon wanted to hear. He wiped away his tears on the sleeve of his shirt, furious that he had let them fall, and turned to go.

“My Lord?” Jon whirled around. _She_ was standing behind him, and Jon stared at her. “I’m not a lord,” he said, trying to control the tears. His soulmate smiled at him and took a step forward. He took a step back.

“I’m sorry, I just thought . . .” she trailed off and bit her bottom him. Jon gulped and rubbed his arm. She went to open her mouth but stopped when Ghost walked forward, sniffing the air. She gasped curiosity and fear in her eyes.

“Is that a wolf?” she asked. Jon smiled softly at Ghost. “A direwolf. His name is Ghost.” He stared at the girl, and his disappointment was suddenly forgotten. The girl smiled at Ghost and she reached her hand out. “Hello, Ghost,”

Jon felt a pull, almost like his soul was reaching out to her.“What are you here? Why aren’t you at the feast?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Too hot, too noisy, and you interest me,” she said so casually. Jon didn’t like the sound of that. Ghost touched her hand with his hand. “Why do I interest you?” Jon asked, wondering if she knew that he was her soulmate. She smiled at him. “You just do,”

She walked towards him and gave him a smile. “If I may ask, who are you?” Jon looked down at Ghost before answering. “I’m Jon Snow,” her eyes lit up at his name before smiling softly at him. _So she does know._

“I’m Y/n Lannister,”

Jon stepped back. “You shouldn’t be talking to me My Lady,” She shook her head at him. “Why shouldn’t I talk to you?”

“You’re a Lady, I’m just a Bastard,” he answered, his head hung low. _Plus I’m your soulmate and I refuse to drag you down with me._ He thought bitterly.

She laughed and Jon looked up and saw Ghost rubbing his head against her dress. She ran her fingers through his white fur and spoke softly to his direwolf.

“Oh! I’m sorry My Lady!” He knelt and called out. “Ghost, come here. Come on. That’s it.” The wolf pup stopped rubbing against Lady Y/n and padded towards Jon and nuzzled at his face.

“I’m so sorry, Lady Y/n, he never really does that to strangers,” he apologized. Lady Y/n laughed. “It’s quite alright, Jon Snow.” Jon blushed and he looked down at Ghost. Fuck he couldn’t be falling for her already, could he?

“Sit, Ghost,” he commanded. “That’s it. Keep still.” Lady Y/n watched him with a keen eye.

“Jon, may I call you that?” Jon looked up at her, his mouth agape. “I-I-I,”

“Aunt Y/n!!” Jon recognized the boy from earlier that day with his encounter with Tyrion Lannister. Thomas ran up to Lady Y/n. “Thomas, what are you doing out here?” Jon watched as the boy of six wrapped his arms around Lady Y/n’s waist.

“I was looking for you! You left the feast and I managed to get away from mum!” Lady Y/n shook her head at him. “Your mother is going to be worried about you. And what are you doing out here without a fur?” the little boy looked down at his feet and Lady Y/n sighed before placing her brown wolf fur around the boy’s shoulders.

“Now, run back to the feast and tell your mother that you’re out here with me.” the boy nodded before running back inside the Great Hall.

Lady Y/n turned to Jon and she gave him a sheepish smile. “I apologize for my nephew's behavior,” Jon didn’t know what to say. He just stared. He never knew a high-born woman with such kindness until tonight. He really was lucky to be given this woman as his soulmate wasn’t he?

“It’s alright,” Jon said - after finding his tongue - and Lady Y/n looked down at her feet. She opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by the boy returning, a smile on his young face.

“Aunt Y/n, can we please go visit Ty?!” shouted the boy, his hands coming together near his mouth as he begged Lady Y/n. She smiled and nodded her head.

“Jon Snow, would you like to accompany my nephew and I to visit my lion?”

Jon’s eyes widen. “Lion?” he asked.

“Yeah! Aunt Y/n has her own lion like you have your own wolf!” the boy waved at Ghost, smiling. “Hello Ghost, nice to see you again!” He beamed at Jon before grabbing his hand and started dragging him towards a caravan. 

“Come on, Lord Snow,” said Lady Lannister, a smile on her face as she stared at Jon. Her nephew Thomas was jumping up and down in excitement and ran to the caravan. “Do you truly have your own lion?” asked Jon as he followed the young woman, her cloak dragging behind her as she walked, looking like a goddess. 

“I do, My Lord, just as you have your own wolf,” 

“Direwolf, my lady,” she smiled. “Direwolf,” 

Jon watched as she greeted the man standing watch near the Caravan and spoke to him in quiet words before he opened the door to the caravan. It wasn’t like the Queen’s giant wheelhouse, but it was fairly large. 

Inside the caravan were giant pillows and a great lion laid in the middle of them. The lion had golden fur and a giant mane around his head. “Ty!” said Lady Y/n in a soft and caring voice. The lion perked up at hearing his mother’s voice and Jon watched as it rushed out of the caravan and practically ran towards Lady Y/n. The lion rubbed his face against her dress and unlike other high born ladies Jon had met - or seen - Lady Y/n did not scream and yell about getting her dress dirty, no she embraced her pet and let him rub his dirty paws and face against the golden gown. 

Thomas giggled loudly, and Jon could hear the lion purring at his mother's affection. Lady Lady laughed as well when Ty licked her face with his rough tongue. 

“Lord Snow, do you want to pet him?” Jon’s grey eyes went wide at the prospect of touching the purring lion in Lady Y/n’s arms. He’s never seen or touched a lion before. “Don’t worry, Lord Snow, Ty won’t tear your arm off . . . unless I command him to, that is.” A smirk was planted on her face. Jon looked at the lion and Ty seemed to be watching him as well. Curiosity danced in the lion's golden eyes. Probably wondering why his mother brought him a late-night snack, thought Jon. 

“Go on, touch him,” whispered Thomas, he was looking at Jon with excitement on his face. Jon could only stare before he plucked up the courage to lend his hand out in the cold northern air. Ty got up from the ground, shook his body, before he walked towards Jon, determined to see who he was and if he was a threat to his mother. He sniffed Jon’s hand, his black nose touched his pale skin, and Jon had to control his body from shivering. Ty’s pink tongue came out and licked Jon’s hand, making little Thomas laugh happily. Ty bumped his head against Jon’s hand and he smiled at the lion. He started to pet the lion, his fingers threading through his mane as Ty started to purr. 

“He likes you,” Jon looked up at Lady Y/n, smiling widely and for once truly happy, and he stared into her eyes. Love and adoration filled his grey orbs. “And I like you too!” said little Thomas, throwing his arms up in the air. Thomas threw his raised arms at Ty, hugging the beast. “Now, Thomas, you must be careful,” scolded Lady Y/n. Thomas looked up at his aunt and nodded his round head, his golden locks falling into his eyes. Lady Y/n bent down, her dress dragging in the dirt and the frost as she brushed the golden hair from his eyes. 

“Remember, Ty is still a lion, he will never forget his nature and his instincts, no matter how much I train him. So you must be wary, do you understand me?” He nodded and Lady Y/n kissed his forehead. Jon was met with a flash, an older Lady Y/n with a young child that had dark hair and her eyes with his pale skin, kissing the child's forehead. 

Something awoke inside Jon, a need throbbed in his body. A desire coated his mind, and he could not shake away his little day-dream. 

“Lord Snow?” Jon looked at Lady Y/n, a blush ran up his neck and the tips of his ears. “Yes, My lady?” Lady Y/n took a step towards him, her head tilting to the side as she watched him stand in the light snow that started to fall from the sky. 

“May I request that you show my nephew and I around your lovely home?” Jon noticed the way she said lovely. It wasn’t disdainful, it was sincere and full of hope that Jon might take her around the place he grew up in all his life. He felt his heart pound against his chest. He was falling for this woman - his soulmate - and he was falling fast. 

“As you wish, My Lady,” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know your thoughts about this chapter! Did you like how I re-arranged some things like Tyrion's meeting with Jon being during the day instead of after the feast? Also, did anyone catch the Princess Bride reference? Thank's for reading! xoxo!


	6. 𝙒𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙨 𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 𝘌𝘥𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘥'𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘷 
> 
> 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯. 𝘠/𝘯 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘺𝘸𝘪𝘯 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘑𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵. 
> 
> 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦. 𝘛𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱, 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘠/𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘓𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘜𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘦 𝘒𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘯, 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘛𝘺𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦. 
> 
> (Soulmate AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, the next three chapters won't be in Jon's or the reader's pov. I hope you'll enjoy today's/tonight's chapter.
> 
> (Edited Chapter: 6/29/2020)

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙎𝙞𝙭: 𝙒𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙨 𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜

𝙀𝙙𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙠

The Godswood, was a peaceful place for Ned. A place where he and others before come to pray, seek guidance, or sit in the stillness of the woods. 

At the center of the grove, an ancient weirwood brooded over a small pool where the waters were black and cold. “The heart tree,” was what the Starks and those in the North called it. The weirwood’s bark was white as bone, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been carved in the trunk of the great tree, its features long and melancholy, the deep-cut eyes red with dried sap and strangely watchful. They were old, those eyes; older than Winterfell itself. They had seen Brandon the Builder set the first stone if the tales were true; they had watched the castle’s granite walls rise around them. It was said that the children of the forest had carved the faces in the trees during the dawn centuries before the coming of the First Men across the narrow sea. 

And Ned sat against the tall and ancient heart tree in Winterfell’s Godswood, cleaning his sword. The wet rag had the blood from the deserter he beheaded earlier that morning. His brows were pulled together as he cleaned the valyrian steel named ‘Ice’ that has been in his family for generations. His thoughts were not on the sword but on the man's words. 

“The Walkers, I saw them,” 

“I saw the Walkers,” 

Every northern child grew up hearing the story of the Long Night, how deadmen marched against the living, how the world was covered in darkness. But for one to claim that he saw them, the undead, it sent shivers down Ned’s spine. 

“The man was mad, he didn’t know what he was talking about,” was what Ned told himself, but he knew, in the back of his mind a small voice was telling him that the man said the truth. He could see the fear in his eyes before he died, he could see the edge of madness run through him like hard snow. 

“Ned,” Ned looked up at his wife; Catelyn Tully. She stood in front of him, looking at him softly. “Catelyn,” he said. His voice was distant and formal. “Where are the children?” He would always ask her that, and it wasn’t a secret that Ned was protective of his children.“In the kitchen, arguing about names for the wolf pups.” She spread her cloak on the forest floor and sat beside the pool, her back to the weirwood. Ned watched her, waiting for her to speak. She never came here without having a purpose, she hated the godswood. She hated the heart tree, and she hated how the godswood was so still, almost as if life was put on pause. 

“Arya is already in love, and Sansa is charmed and gracious, but Rickon is not quite sure.”

“Is he afraid?” Ned asked. “A little,” Catelyn admitted. “He is only three.” Ned frowned. “He must learn to face his fears. He will not be three forever. And winter is coming.”

“Yes,” Catelyn agreed. “The man died well, I’ll give him that,” Ned said. He had a swatch of oiled leather in one hand. He ran it lightly up the greatsword as he spoke, polishing the metal to a dark glow. “I was glad for Bran’s sake. You would have been proud of Bran.” “I am always proud of Bran,” Catelyn replied, watching the sword as he stroked it. 

“He was the fourth this year,” Ned said grimly. “The poor man was half-mad. Something had put a fear in him so deep that my words could not reach him.” He sighed. “Ben writes that the strength of the Night’s Watch is down below a thousand. It’s not only desertions. They are losing men on rangings as well.” 

“Is it the wildlings?” she asked.

“Who else?” Ned lifted Ice, looked down the cool steel length of it. “And it will only grow worse. The day may come when I will have no choice but to call the banners and ride north to deal with this King-beyond-the-Wall for good and all.” 

“Beyond the Wall?” That made Catelyn shudder. Ned saw the dread on her face. “Mance Rayder is nothing for us to fear.” “There are darker things beyond the Wall.” She glanced behind her at the heart tree, the pale bark and red eyes, watching, listening, thinking its long slow thoughts. His smile was gentle. “You listen to too many of Old Nan’s stories. The Others are as dead as the children of the forest, gone eight thousand years. Maester Luwin will tell you they never lived at all. No living man has ever seen one.” as Ned said this his thoughts betrayed him: “Until now,”

“Until this morning, no living man had ever seen a direwolf either,” Catelyn reminded him. “I ought to know better than to argue with a Tully,” he said with a rueful smile. He slid Ice back into its sheath. “You did not come here to tell me crib tales. I know how little you like this place. What is it, my lady?” Catelyn took his hand. “There was grievous news today, my lord. I did not wish to trouble you until you had cleansed yourself.” Ned looked at their connected hands as she spoke. “I am so sorry, my love. Jon Arryn is dead.” 

His eyes found hers, and she could see how hard it took him. Ned felt his world come to a stop, just like it did with the death of his beloved sister, Lyanna. In his youth, Ned had fostered at the Eyrie, and the childless Lord Arryn had become a second father to him and his fellow ward, Robert Baratheon. When the Mad King Aerys II Targaryen had demanded their heads, the Lord of the Eyrie had raised his moon-and-falcon banners in revolt rather than give up those he had pledged to protect. And one day fifteen years ago, this second father had become a brother as well, as he and Ned stood together in the sept at Riverrun to wed two sisters, the daughters of Lord Hoster Tully. 

“Jon . . . ” he said. “Is this news certain?” “It was the king’s seal, and the letter is in Robert’s own hand. I saved it for you. He said Lord Arryn was taken quickly. Even Maester Pycelle was helpless, but he brought the milk of the poppy, so Jon did not linger long in pain.” 

“That is some small mercy, I suppose,” he said. She could see the grief on his face, but even then he thought first of her. “Your sister,” he said. “And Jon’s boy. What word of them?”

“The message said only that they were well, and had returned to the Eyrie,” Catelyn said. “I wish they had gone to Riverrun instead. The Eyrie is high and lonely, and it was ever her husband’s place, not hers. Lord Jon’s memory will haunt each stone. I know my sister. She needs the comfort of family and friends around her.” 

“Your uncle waits in the Vale, does he not? Jon named him Knight of the Gate, I’d heard.” Catelyn nodded. “Brynden will do what he can for her, and for the boy. That is some comfort, but still . . . ”

“Go to her,” Ned urged. “Take the children. Fill her halls with noise and shouts and laughter. That boy of hers needs other children about him, and Lysa should not be alone in her grief.” “Would that I could,” Catelyn said. “The letter had other tidings. The king is riding to Winterfell to seek you out.”

It took Ned a moment to comprehend her words, but when the understanding came, the darkness left his eyes. “Robert is coming here?” When she nodded, a smile broke across his face.

“I knew that would please you,” she said. “We should send word to your brother on the Wall.” “Yes, of course,” he agreed. “Ben will want to be here. I shall tell Maester Luwin to send his swiftest bird.” Ned rose and pulled her to her feet. “Damnation, how many years has it been? And he gives us no more notice than this? How many in his party? Did the message say?”

“I should think a hundred knights, at the least, with all their retainers, and half again as many freeriders. Cersei and the children travel with them.”

“Robert will keep an easy pace for their sakes,” he said. “It is just as well. That will give us more time to prepare.” 

“The queen’s brothers are also in the party,” she told him. 

Ned grimaced at that. There was small love between him and the queen’s family, Catelyn knew. The Lannisters of Casterly Rock had come late to Robert’s cause when victory was all but certain, and he had never forgiven them.

“Well, if the price for Robert’s company is an infestation of Lannisters, so be it. It sounds as though Robert is bringing half his court.” 

“Where the king goes, the realm follows,” she said.

“It will be good to see the children. The youngest was still sucking at the Lannister woman’s teat the last time I saw him. He must be, what, five by now?” 

“Prince Tommen is seven,” she told him. “The same age as Bran. Please, Ned, guard your tongue. The Lannister woman is our queen, and her pride is said to grow with every passing year.” 

Ned squeezed her hand. “There must be a feast, of course, with singers, and Robert will want to hunt. I shall send Jory south with an honor guard to meet them on the kingsroad and escort them back. Gods, how are we going to feed them all? On his way already, you said? Damn the man. Damn his royal hide.”

* * *

Laughter filled the Great Hall in Winterfell, Ned sat at the head of the table, drinking ale as his children chatted about their days and accomplishments. 

Apparently Arya named her direwolf Nymeria,  after  the Rhoynar  warrior-queen, while Sansa - his eldest daughter - named her direwolf ‘Lady’ ‘cause she wasn’t a wild beast like Arya’s wolf, she was a Lady, just like her. 

Robb named his wolf Grey Wind, and Jon named his Ghost - Ned could see the jealousy in Bran’s face as Jon told them about Ghost - and Bran’s wolf was still unnamed.

Rickon was getting used to his direwolf and the three-year-old boy called his wolf, ‘Shaggy Dog’ making himself and Catelyn laugh at the ridiculous name for a direwolf, but Ned endured him, giving him a smile. 

“Father?”

Ned turned his head to Bran, his little climber. Catelyn was terrified that one day Bran would slip and fall, though Ned wasn’t too worried about him, he was a terrific climber. Once Catelyn made Bran promise to never climb again, he promised but he couldn’t keep it. For a fortnight he was off the walls and roofs of Winterfell, until one morning he came up to his mother and confessed his crime of sneaking out the night before and broke his promise. Ned had ordered him to the godswood to cleanse himself. Guards were posted to see that Bran remained there alone all night to reflect on his disobedience. The next morning Bran was nowhere to be seen. They finally found him fast asleep in the upper branches of the tallest sentinel in the grove. As angry as he was, Ned could not help but laugh. “You’re not my son,” he told Bran when they fetched him down, “you’re a squirrel. So be it. If you must climb, then climb, but try not to let your mother see you.”

“Yes, Bran?” Bran looked down at his plate, his teeth in his bottom lip. Ned knew this look, he overheard something in the kitchens. “Out with it son,” he sighed. 

“I overheard that you got a raven today, from the King.” his children stopped eating and were staring at him, anticipation in their eyes. “Is it true that the King is coming here? To Winterfell?” 

Ned turned his head to his wife. She gave him a small nod before Ned answered his son’s question. “Yes, his Grace will be coming to Winterfell,” 

The table turned into chaos, voices and questions overlapping one another as they tried to get more information. Catelyn leaned back into her chair, sipping some wine as she watched. 

Ned just sat, patiently, for his children to calm down, a smile playing at his lips as he watched his children - all his children - talk and interact with one another over the matter of his best friend, coming to their home. 

* * *

The visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of gold and silver and polished steel, three hundred strong, a pride of bannermen and knights, of sworn swords and free-riders. Over their heads, a dozen golden banners whipped back and forth in the northern wind, emblazoned with the crowned stag of Baratheon.

Ned knew many of the riders. There came Ser Jaime Lannister with hair as bright as beaten gold, and there Sandor Clegane with his terrible burned face. The tall boy beside him could only be the crown prince, and that stunted little man behind them was surely the Imp, Tyrion Lannister. Behind the Imp, was a woman, a young woman riding proudly. The men behind her rode with Lannister banners, and Ned watched as she stopped her horse right next to the Lannister brothers. Was she a cousin of theirs? Ned didn't know. Lady Joanna died giving birth to a little girl right before Robert's Rebellion and no one - besides the Lannisters and their household - saw the young girl. Lord Tywin made sure to that. Though there were rumors of his youngest child, how he was training her to take over his Casterly Rock, Ned never believed rumors. He shook himself from his thoughts and looked on at the party riding into his home.

Though, the huge man at the head of the column, flanked by two knights in the snow-white cloaks of the Kingsguard, seemed almost a stranger to Ned. He vaulted off the back of his warhorse and marched up to Ned. Ned got onto his knee, with his Lady wife, sons, daughters, and household. Eddard waited, his head inclined, and his knee in the snow until he saw Robert wiggle his fingers and Ned stood up. Robert gave him a look before speaking. "You got fat," he said. Ned didn't know what to say, he just looked at Robert - his gut more specifically - before a familiar roar graced his ears, and Robert crushed him in a bone-crunching hug. "Ned! Ah, but it is good to see that frozen face of yours." The king looked him over top to bottom and laughed. "You have not changed at all." Would that Ned had been able to say the same.

Fifteen years past, when they had ridden forth to win a throne, the Lord of Storm's End had been clean-shaven, clear-eyed, and muscled like a maiden's fantasy. Six and a half feet tall, he towered over lesser men, and when he donned his armor and the great antlered helmet of his house, he became a veritable giant. He'd had a giant's strength too, his weapon of choice a spiked iron Warhammer that Ned could scarcely lift.

In those days, the smell of leather and blood had clung to him like perfume. Now it was the perfume that clung to him like perfume, and he had a girth to match his height. Ned had last seen the king nine years before during Balon Greyjoy's rebellion when the stag and the direwolf had joined to end the pretensions of the self-proclaimed King of the Iron Islands. Since the night they had stood side by side in Greyjoy's fallen stronghold, where Robert had accepted the rebel lord's surrender and Ned had taken his son Theon as hostage and ward, the king had gained at least eight stone. A beard as coarse and black as iron wire covered his jaw to hide his double chin and the sag of the royal jowls, but nothing could hide his stomach or the dark circles under his eyes.

Yet Robert was Ned's king now, and not just a friend, so he said only, "Your Grace. Winterfell is yours." By then the others were dismounting as well, and grooms were coming forward for their mounts. Robert's queen, Cersei Lannister, entered on foot with her younger children and a woman with raven hair and blue eyes holding an infant with a young boy following behind her. Ned recognized the woman, she was Lord Tyrion's wife. The wheelhouse in which they had ridden, a huge double-decked carriage of oiled oak and gilded metal pulled by forty heavy draft horses, was too wide to pass through the castle gate. Ned knelt in the snow to kiss the queen's ring, while Robert embraced Catelyn like a long-lost sister.

Then the children had been brought forward, introduced, and approved of by both sides. No sooner had those formalities of greeting been completed than the king had said to his host, "Take me down to your crypt, Eddard. I would pay my respects."

Ned loved him for that, for remembering her still after all these years. He called for a lantern. No other words were needed. The queen had begun to protest. They had been riding since dawn, everyone was tired and cold, surely they should refresh themselves first. The dead would wait. She had said no more than that; Robert had looked at her, and her twin brother Jaime had taken her quietly by the arm, and she had said no more.

They went down to the crypt together, Ned and this king he scarcely recognized. The winding stone steps were narrow.

Ned went first with the lantern. "I was starting to think we would never reach Winterfell," Robert complained as they descended. "In the south, the way they talk about my Seven Kingdoms, a man forgets that your part is as big as the other six combined."

"I trust you enjoyed the journey, Your Grace?" Robert snorted. "Bogs and forests and fields, and scarcely a decent inn north of the Neck. I've never seen such a vast emptiness. Where are all your people?"

"Likely they were too shy to come out," Ned jested. He could feel the chill coming up the stairs, a cold breath from deep within the earth. "Kings are a rare sight in the north." Robert snorted. "More likely they were hiding under the snow. Snow, Ned!" The king put one hand on the wall to steady himself as they descended. "Late summer snows are common enough," Ned said. "I hope they did not trouble you. They are usually mild."

"The Others take your mild snows," Robert swore. "What will this place be like in winter? I shudder to think."

"The winters are hard," Ned admitted. "But the Starks will endure. We always have."

"You need to come south," Robert told him. "You need a taste of summer before it flees. In Highgarden there are fields of golden roses that stretch away as far as the eye can see. The fruits are so ripe they explode in your mouth - melons, peaches, fireplums, you've never tasted such sweetness. You'll see, I brought you some. Even at Storm's End, with that good wind off the bay, the days are so hot you can barely move. And you ought to see the towns, Ned! Flowers everywhere, the markets bursting with food, the summerwines so cheap and so good that you can get drunk just breathing the air. Everyone is fat and drunk and rich." He laughed and slapped his own ample stomach a thump.

"And the girls, Ned!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. "I swear, women lose all modesty in the heat. They swim naked in the river, right beneath the castle. Even in the streets, it's too damn hot for wool or fur, so they go around in these short gowns, silk if they have the silver and cotton if not, but it's all the same when they start sweating and the cloth sticks to their skin, they might as well be naked." The king laughed happily. Robert Baratheon had always been a man of huge appetites, a man who knew how to take his pleasures.

That was not a charge anyone could lay at the door of Eddard Stark. Yet Ned could not help but notice that those pleasures were taking a toll on the king. Robert was breathing heavily by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, his face red in the lantern light as they stepped out into the darkness of the crypt.

"Your Grace," Ned said respectfully. He swept the lantern in a wide semicircle. Shadows moved and lurched. Flickering light touched the stones underfoot and brushed against a long procession of granite pillars that marched ahead, two by two, into the dark. Between the pillars, the dead sat on their stone thrones against the walls, backs against the sepulchers that contained their mortal remains. "She is down at the end, with Father and Brandon." He led the way between the pillars and Robert followed wordlessly, shivering in the subterranean chill. It was always cold down here. Their footsteps rang off the stones and echoed in the vault overhead as they walked among the dead of House Stark. The Lords of Winterfell watched them pass. Their likenesses were carved into the stones that sealed the tombs. In long rows they sat, blind eyes staring out into eternal darkness, while great stone direwolves curled round their feet. The shifting shadows made the stone figures seem to stir as the living passed by. By ancient custom an iron longsword had been laid across the lap of each who had been Lord of Winterfell, to keep the vengeful spirits in their crypts. The oldest had long ago rusted away to nothing, leaving only a few red stains where the metal had rested on stone. Ned wondered if that meant those ghosts were free to roam the castle now. He hoped not. The first Lords of Winterfell had been men hard as the land they ruled. In the centuries before the Dragonlords came over the sea, they had sworn allegiance to no man, styling themselves the Kings in the North. Ned stopped at last and lifted the oil lantern.

The crypt continued on into darkness ahead of them, but beyond this point, the tombs were empty and unsealed; black holes waiting for their dead, waiting for him and his children. Ned did not like to think on that.

"Here," he told his king. Robert nodded silently, knelt, and bowed his head. There were three tombs, side by side. Lord Rickard Stark, Ned's father, had a long, stern face. The stonemason had known him well. He sat with quiet dignity, stone fingers holding tight to the sword across his lap, but in life, all swords had failed him. In two smaller sepulchers on either side were his children. Brandon had been twenty when he died, strangled by order of the Mad King Aerys Targaryen only a few short days before he was to wed Catelyn Tully of Riverrun. His father had been forced to watch him die. He was the true heir, the eldest, born to rule.

Lyanna had only been sixteen, a child-woman of surpassing loveliness. Ned had loved her with all his heart. Robert had loved her even more. She was to have been his bride. "She was more beautiful than that," the king said after a silence. His eyes lingered on Lyanna's face as if he could will her back to life. Finally, he rose, made awkward by his weight. "Ah, damn it, Ned, did you have to bury her in a place like this?" His voice was hoarse with remembered grief. "She deserved more than darkness . . . "

"She was a Stark of Winterfell," Ned said quietly. "This is her place." "She should be on a hill somewhere, under a fruit tree, with the sun and clouds above her and the rain to wash her clean."

"I was with her when she died," Ned reminded the king. "She wanted to come home, to rest beside Brandon and Father." He could hear her still at times. _Promise me,_ she had cried, in a room that smelled of blood and roses. _Promise me, Ned._ The fever had taken her strength and her voice had been faint as a whisper, but when he gave her his word, the fear had gone out of his sister's eyes. Ned remembered the way she had smiled then, how tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black. After that, he remembered nothing. They had found him still holding her body, silent with grief. The little crannogman, Howland Reed, had taken her hand from his. Ned could recall none of it.

"I bring her flowers when I can," he said. "Lyanna was . . . fond of flowers." The king touched her cheek, his fingers brushing across the rough stone as gently as if it were living flesh. "I vowed to kill Rhaegar for what he did to her."

"You did," Ned reminded him. "Only once," Robert said bitterly. They had come together at the ford of the Trident while the battle crashed around them, Robert with his Warhammer and his great antlered helm, the Targaryen prince armored all in black. On his breastplate was the three-headed dragon of his House, wrought all in rubies that flashed like fire in the sunlight. The waters of the Trident ran red around the hooves of their destriers as they circled and clashed, again and again, until at last a crushing blow from Robert's hammer stove in the dragon and the chest beneath it. When Ned had finally come on the scene, Rhaegar lay dead in the stream, while men of both armies scrabbled in the swirling waters for rubies knocked free of his armor.

"In my dreams, I kill him every night," Robert admitted. "A thousand deaths will still be less than he deserves." There was nothing Ned could say to that. After a quiet, he said, "We should return, Your Grace. Your wife will be waiting."

"The Others take my wife," Robert muttered sourly, but he started back the way they had come, his footsteps falling heavily. "And if I hear 'Your Grace' once more, I'll have your head on a spike. We are more to each other than that."

"I had not forgotten," Ned replied quietly. When the king did not answer, he said, "Tell me about Jon." Robert shook his head. "I have never seen a man sicken so quickly. We gave a tourney on my son's name day. If you had seen Jon then, you would have sworn he would live forever. A fortnight later he was dead. The sickness was like a fire in his gut. It burned right through him." He paused beside a pillar, before the tomb of a long-dead Stark. "I loved that old man."

"We both did." Ned paused a moment. "Catelyn fears for her sister. How does Lysa bear her grief?" Robert's mouth gave a bitter twist. "Not well, in truth," he admitted. "I think losing Jon has driven the woman mad, Ned. She has taken the boy back to the Eyrie. Against my wishes. I had hoped to foster him with Tywin Lannister at Casterly Rock. Jon had no brothers, no other sons. Was I supposed to leave him to be raised by women?"

Ned would sooner entrust a child to a pit viper than to Lord Tywin, but he left his doubts unspoken. Some old wounds never truly heal and bleed again at the slightest word. "The wife has lost the husband," he said carefully. "Perhaps the mother feared to lose the son. The boy is very young." "Six, and sickly, and Lord of the Eyrie, gods have mercy," the king swore. "Lord Tywin had never taken a ward before. Lysa ought to have been honored. The Lannisters are a great and noble House. She refused to even hear of it. Then she left in the dead of night, without so much as a by-your-leave. Cersei was furious." He sighed deeply. "The boy is my namesake, did you know that? Robert Arryn. I am sworn to protect him. How can I do that if his mother steals him away?"

"I will take him as ward if you wish," Ned said. "Lysa should consent to that. She and Catelyn were close as girls, and she would be welcome here as well."

"A generous offer, my friend," the king said, "but too late. Lord Tywin has already given his consent. Fostering the boy elsewhere would be a grievous affront to him."

"I have more concern for my nephew's welfare than I do for Lannister pride," Ned declared. "That is because you do not sleep with a Lannister." Robert laughed, the sound rattling among the tombs and bouncing from the vaulted ceiling. His smile was a flash of white teeth in the thicket of the huge black beard. "Ah, Ned," he said, "you are still too serious." He put a massive arm around Ned's shoulders. "I had planned to wait a few days to speak to you, but I see now there's no need for it. Come, walk with me." They started back down between the pillars. Blind stone eyes seemed to follow them as they passed. The king kept his arm around Ned's shoulder. "You must have wondered why I finally came north to Winterfell, after so long." Ned had his suspicions, but he did not give them voice. "For the joy of my company, surely," he said lightly. "And there is the Wall. You need to see it, Your Grace, to walk along its battlements and talk to those who man it. The Night's Watch is a shadow of what it once was. Benjen says—"

"No doubt I will hear what your brother says soon enough," Robert said. "The Wall has stood for what, eight thousand years? It can keep a few days more. I have more pressing concerns. These are difficult times. I need good men about me. Men like Jon Arryn. He served as Lord of the Eyrie, as Warden of the East, as the Hand of the King. He will not be easy to replace." "His son . . . " Ned began. "His son will succeed to the Eyrie and all its incomes," Robert said brusquely. "No more." That took Ned by surprise. He stopped, startled, and turned to look at his king. The words came unbidden. "The Arryns have always been Wardens of the East. The title goes with the domain." "Perhaps when he comes of age, the honor can be restored to him," Robert said. "I have this year to think of, and next. A six-year-old boy is no war leader, Ned." "In peace, the title is only an honor. Let the boy keep it. For his father's sake if not his own. Surely you owe Jon that much for his service." The king was not pleased. He took his arm from around Ned's shoulders. "Jon's service was the duty he owed his liege lord. I am not ungrateful, Ned. You of all men ought to know that. But the son is not the father. A mere boy cannot hold the east." Then his tone softened. "Enough of this. There is a more important office to discuss, and I would not argue with you." Robert grasped Ned by the elbow. "I have need of you, Ned." "I am yours to command, Your Grace. Always."

They were words he had to say, and so he said them, apprehensive about what might come next. Robert scarcely seemed to hear him.

"Those years we spent in the Eyrie . . . gods, those were good years. I want you at my side again, Ned. I want you down in King's Landing, not up here at the end of the world where you are no damned use to anybody." Robert looked off into the darkness, for a moment as melancholy as a Stark.

"I swear to you, sitting a throne is a thousand times harder than winning one. Laws are a tedious business and counting coppers is worse. And the people . . . there is no end of them. I sit on that damnable iron chair and listen to them complain until my mind is numb and my ass is raw. They all want something, money or land or justice. The lies they tell . . . and my lords and ladies are no better. I am surrounded by flatterers and fools. It can drive a man to madness, Ned. Half of them don't dare tell me the truth, and the other half can't find it. There are nights I wish we had lost at the Trident. Ah, no, not truly, but . . ."

"I understand," Ned said softly. Robert looked at him. "I think you do. If so, you are the only one, my old friend." He smiled. "Lord Eddard Stark, I would name you the Hand of the King."

Ned dropped to one knee. The offer did not surprise him; what other reason could Robert have had for coming so far? The Hand of the King was the second-most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms. He spoke with the king's voice, commanded the king's armies, drafted the king's laws. At times he even sat upon the Iron Throne to dispense king's justice, when the king was absent, or sick, or otherwise indisposed. Robert was offering him a responsibility as large as the realm itself. It was the last thing in the world he wanted.

"Your Grace," he said. "I am not worthy of the honor." Robert groaned with good-humored impatience. "If I wanted to honor you, I'd let you retire. I am planning to make you run the kingdom and fight the wars while I eat and drink and wench myself into an early grave." He slapped his gut and grinned. "You know the saying, about the king and his Hand?" Ned knew the saying. "What the king dreams," he said, "the Hand builds."

"I bedded a fishmaid once who told me the lowborn have a choicer way to put it. The king eats, they say, and the Hand takes the shit." He threw back his head and roared his laughter. The echoes rang through the darkness, and all around them, the dead of Winterfell seemed to watch with cold and disapproving eyes. Finally, the laughter dwindled and stopped. Ned was still on one knee, his eyes upraised. "Damn it, Ned," the king complained. "You might at least humor me with a smile."

"They say it grows so cold up here in winter that a man's laughter freezes in his throat and chokes him to death," Ned said evenly. "Perhaps that is why the Starks have so little humor." "Come south with me, and I'll teach you how to laugh again," the king promised. "You helped me win this damnable throne, now help me hold it. We were meant to rule together. If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done." This offer did surprise him. "Sansa is only eleven." Robert waved an impatient hand. "Old enough for betrothal. The marriage can wait a few years." The king smiled. "Now stand up and say yes, curse you."

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Your Grace," Ned answered. He hesitated. "These honors are all so unexpected. May I have some time to consider? I need to tell my wife . . . " "Yes, yes, of course, tell Catelyn, sleep on it if you must." The king reached down, clasped Ned by the hand, and pulled him roughly to his feet. "Just don't keep me waiting too long. I am not the most patient of men." For a moment Eddard Stark was filled with a terrible sense of foreboding. This was his place, here in the north. He looked at the stone figures all around them, breathed deep in the chill silence of the crypt. He could feel the eyes of the dead. They were all listening, he knew. And winter was coming.

* * *

The Great Hall was loud and booming with excitement as men drank and sang songs. His children entertained Roberts, and more often than naught, he would catch his daughter gazing at the man with scars on his face. Eddard knew who this man was, he saw him once before. It was the sack of King's Landing when he caught Jamie Lannister cleaning his bloody sword with the white cloak he wore. He killed his King, and his father presented Robert with Eila Martell's dead children wrapped in a Lannister banner. When Lord Tywin presented the dead prince and princess, two men stood behind him. Both were tall, but the one without the scars was taller than the one with scars. That was the first time he met Sandor Clegane, the younger brother of the monster Gregor Clegane. Sandor was only a boy of 10 and 2, but he was as tall as Eddard, a ruthlessness was in his eyes, hard and cold. Of course, he heard the story of his bedding being caught on fire, leaving him with the scar, but he never believed that. Now, this horrifying man - who was the personal shield to Joffery Baratheon - was being gazed upon by his sweet little Sansa, barely a girl of 11.

"I'm not your son!" The whole hall became silent as they watched on. Benjen Stark stood up. "More's the pity." Eddard watched as Benjen placed his hand on Jon's shoulder. "Come back to me after you've fathered a few bastards of your own, and we'll see how you feel." Jon trembled. "I will never father a bastard," he said carefully. "Never!" Jon spat it out like venom. Suddenly he realized that the table had fallen silent, and they were all looking at him. He felt the tears begin to well behind his eyes. He pushed himself to his feet. "I must be excused," he said with the last of his dignity. He whirled and bolted before they could see him cry. He must have drunk more wine than he had realized. His feet got tangled under him as he tried to leave, and he lurched sideways into a serving girl and sent a flagon of spiced wine crashing to the floor. Laughter boomed all around him, and Jon felt hot tears on his cheeks. Someone tried to steady him. He wrenched free of their grip and ran, half-blind, for the door. Ghost followed close at his heels, out into the night.

Eddard watched as his son marched out of the Great Hall. He did not laugh as everyone else did - well except for the Lannister siblings, his sons and daughters, and his Lady Wife - he just watched as a young woman who was escorted by Jamie Lannister stood up, drawing the attention of her family and a few lords including Eddard. She didn't say a word, she just gave everyone a pointed look, like a mother scolding a child, before she marched out of the Great Hall, creating whispers and rumors. Eddard watched as she followed the direction where Jon went and he stood up as well. He would not let his son - bastard or not - be humiliated by a Lannister.

He was however blocked by Jamie Lannister, and Eddard glared at the golden-haired man. "Your pardon," he said, irritatedly. He didn't want to waste any more time, he needed to see Jon. "I hear we might be neighbors soon. I hope it's true." Lannister says with a smirk in his voice. Eddard was thrown off. "Yes, the king has honored me with his offer."

Lannister finally smirks. "I'm sure we'll have a tournament to celebrate the new title if you accept. It would be good to have you in the field. The competition has become a bit stale." Eddard chuckles. "I don't fight in tournaments." Lannister shifts a bit closer to Ned. "No? Getting a little old for it?" Eddard shifts as well, getting closer to the Kingslayer. "I don't fight in tournaments because when I fight a man for real, I don't want him to know what I can do." Lannister nods his head, almost as if he was agreeing with him for a moment. "Well said." His green eyes bore into Eddard's grey eyes, narrowing.

"I do hope that your bastard thinks the same way, Lord Stark." Eddard narrowed his eyes, his hands at his side ball up into a fist. "Otherwise, my sister, Lady Y/n, won't have him in any way." This makes Eddard's brows knit closely together on his forehead. "What are you talking about, Lannister?" He chuckles and takes a step back. "Why don't you go and ask him what the second name is now on his skin, Lord Stark," Lannister walks back to the table, a spring in his step, while Eddard just stares in disbelief.

Once he shakes himself from his thoughts, he turns to walk out of the Great Hall. It was cold as always, but to Eddard, this was home. His grey eyes wandered around the Yard and they settled on three figures around a caravan. Laughter was what graced his ears. Jon stood near a golden lion, his hand out letting the beast sniff his skin. A little boy stood near Lady Y/n Lannister, holding onto her arm as the lion licked and rubbed his head against Jon's hand. Jon was smiling widely and happiness was etched on his face. The young woman was smiling and laughing as well, and Eddard watched as the boy latched onto the lion, petting the beast while the girl and Jon stared into each other's eyes, love and desire clearly in them.

Eddard had to blink a few tears away. The memories of his past creeping up on him were tormenting and he tried to keep them buried down. But nothing, no woman could replace her. He grew to love Catelyn, but his heart didn't belong to her. No, it belonged to someone else, his soulmate. The name on his skin. When he heard what had happened to her, he made sure no one in his castle would speak of her. No one would ever bring up the name that caused Eddard's pain. No one would ever say the name; Ashara Dayne. Not while he lived. Not until his bones rested beneath Winterfell in the crypt where his father, mother, brother, and sister laid. 

The sound of Jon's laughter was what broke Eddard from his painful memories, and he smiled at his son. Jon petting the lion as the great beast licked him while the girl played and entertained the direwolf at Jon's side, and Eddard knew at that moment that these two were soulmates. No stranger could approach Jon when he had Ghost at his side. No stranger could even touch Ghost without him tearing off a finger or two, but this girl, this stranger, broke Ghost's and Jon's walls of ice. For once, Jon smiled and acted his age. He was just a boy, not a man. He needed to experience the world.

As Ned watches carefully, Benjen walks up to him and smiles. "You at a feast -- It's like a bear in a trap." Ned turns his head and smiles at his younger brother. Jon laughed in the distance once again and Benjen turned his head to look on. "So he does have a woman," he mumbles. Ned sighs. "She's a Lannister, Benjen, Lord Tywin's youngest." Benjen nods his head. "Is she his . . ." he trails off as his grey eyes catch the smile Jon sends the girl and the blush that appeared on her face. "Yes. I believe so."

Benjen nods before taking Ned's shoulder leading them away from the soulmates. "The man I beheaded, did you know him?" Ned asked. "Of course I did, he was tough, brave, a good ranger, Ned."

"He was talking madness, Benjen, Said the Walkers slaughtered his friends." Ned turned his body to face his younger brother. "The two he was with are still missing,"

"A wilding ambush." Ned tries to reason. "Maybe. Direwolves south of the wall. Talk of the Walkers. My brother might be the next Hand to the King. Winter is coming." He puts his hand on Ned's shoulder. Ned smiles softly before placing his hand on Benjen's shoulder as well. "Winter is coming,"

* * *

He visited his wife's bed chambers that night. He fucked her eagerly, and good, but he did not picture Catelyn as he fucked her. No, another woman was on his mind. He knew it was sinful to think of another woman besides his wife, but Ashara's haunting violet eyes haunted him. The nights he spent with her, naked and clothed were the best nights of his life. He missed her dark raven hair, her tan skin, her silky voice. He missed her laugh, her smile, her personality. He missed her.

The name on his skin was faded, but it was still there. After she threw herself from the tower locked himself inside his private solar and screamed. Ugly sobs echoed through the room as he watched the name on his skin fade. She was dead. She would never take another breath again. She would never laugh or smile again. She was dead. And he was married to another woman.

Catelyn wasn't born with a name on her skin. She wasn't gifted by the Old Gods. She would never know the feeling one feels when their mate dies. Even now, in his 35th year of life, his soul wasn't complete as it used to be. He felt the numbness and emptiness in his heart, even after all these years. On their wedding night, he was gentle with her, but he did not see her. He envisioned another woman, and he tried to imagine making love to Ashara. But Catelyn didn't feel the same way she did, and after that night he refused to disgrace both his Lady Wife and his lover. He never thought of Ashara while fucking Catelyn. His time with Ashara came in dreams, and he relived his memories with her.

Once he finished, he climbed off her and the bed. He crossed the room and pulled back the heavy tapestries, and threw open the high narrow windows one by one, letting the night air into the chamber. The wind swirled around him as he stood facing the dark, naked, and empty-handed.

"I will refuse him," Ned said as he turned back to her. His eyes were haunted, his voice thick with doubt.

Catelyn sat up in the bed. "You cannot. You must not." "My duties are here in the north. I have no wish to be Robert's Hand."

"He will not understand that. He is a king now, and kings are not like other men. If you refuse to serve him, he will wonder why, and sooner or later he will begin to suspect that you oppose him. Can't you see the danger that would put us in?" Ned shook his head, refusing to believe. "Robert would never harm me or any of mine. We were closer than brothers. He loves me. If I refuse him, he will roar and curse and bluster, and in a week we will laugh about it together. I know the man!"

"You knew the man," she said. "The king is a stranger to you." Ned scoffed at her."Pride is everything to a king, my lord. Robert came all this way to see you, to bring you these great honors, you cannot throw them back in his face."

Honors?" Ned laughed bitterly. "In his eyes, yes," she said. "And in yours?"

"And in mine," she blazed, angry now. Ned felt anger rise in his chest as well.

"He offers his own son in marriage to our daughter, what else would you call that? Sansa might someday be queen. Her sons could rule from the Wall to the mountains of Dorne. What is so wrong with that?"

"Gods, Catelyn, Sansa is only eleven," Ned said. "And Joffrey . . . Joffrey is . . . " She finished for him. " . . . crown prince, and heir to the Iron Throne. And I was only twelve when my father promised me to your brother Brandon." That brought a bitter twist to Ned's mouth. "Brandon. Yes. Brandon would know what to do. He always did. It was all meant for Brandon. You, Winterfell, everything. He was born to be a King's Hand and a father to queens. I never asked for this cup to pass to me." _I never wanted you,_ he thought but didn't say aloud.

"Perhaps not," Catelyn said, "but Brandon is dead, and the cup has passed, and you must drink from it, like it or not." Ned turned away from her, back to the night. He stood staring out in the darkness, watching the moon and the stars perhaps, or perhaps the sentries on the wall.

A knock came at the door, loud and unexpected. Ned turned, frowning. "What is it?" Desmond's voice came through the door. "My lord, Maester Luwin is without and begs an urgent audience."

"You told him I had left orders not to be disturbed?"

"Yes, my lord. He insists."

"Very well. Send him in." Ned crossed to the wardrobe and slipped on a heavy robe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment your thoughts if you liked this chapter. <3 <3


	7. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙇𝙚𝙣𝙨

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘊𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺𝘯'𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘷! 𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺! 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨. ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Edited Chapter: 6/29/2020)

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙎𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣: 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙇𝙚𝙣𝙨 

𝘾𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙮𝙣 𝙏𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙮

Catelyn's slender hands ran through Sansa's auburn hair as she plaited it. Memories of her own mother doing this to Catelyn crept up on her and the older woman had to push down the tears threatening to escape.

"Do you think Joffery will like me?" comment's Sansa, her small head turning to look at her mother through the looking glass. "What if he thinks I'm ugly?"

Catelyn puts her hands down on Sansa's shoulders and leans down. "Then he is the stupidest prince that ever lived." Sansa smiled at her mother and Catelyn went back to Sansa's hair, twisting and creating a northern style to show off her daughter's roots. "He's so handsome," Catelyn rolled her eyes at her daughter's remark. She did not agree at all, he had golden hair and his vile mother's green eyes. He didn't look like Robert at all, almost as if no trace of him ran through Prince Joffery's veins.

"When would we be married? Soon or do we have to wait?" Catelyn sighs, tired of her daughter's comments. She walked around Sansa and stood in front of her. "Hush now. Your father hasn't even said yes."

Sansa's arched brows furrowed closely together on her delicate forehead. "Why would he say no? He'd be the second most powerful man in the kingdoms," Catelyn pitied her daughter and her wishful thinking. She was too young to understand the burden it was to be the Hand of the King. Too foolish to even leave Winterfell, but somewhere deep in Catelyn's soul - she wanted Sansa to go. She wanted Ned to go. She wanted Sansa to marry the prince - despite who his mother was - and become the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She would be a great ruler, and such beauty shouldn't be kept here in this dim castle. She should be out in the sun at Kings Landing, bathing in the rays by the Blackwater, making friends, and enjoying life at the capital.

"Mother?" Catelyn was shaken from her thoughts and she focused her blue eyes on her daughter's face. "Your father would have to leave home, He'd have to leave me. And so would you, my Sansa," Sansa made a face full of bitterness. "But you left your home to come here. And I'd be queen someday. Please make father say yes!" Catelyn sighed at her daughter's tone of voice. "Sansa,"

"Please! Please! It's the only thing I ever wanted." Catelyn closes her eyes, thinking of a way to bring this subject up with her Lord Husband before nodding her head. "I will try, my sweetling,"

Throughout the feast, Catelyn had watched her eldest daughter; Sansa, speak and giggle with the prince. She felt pride that her daughter was able to enamor the crown prince, and they did look lovely together. Sansa was only 11, but she knew her little girl was the most beautiful girl in the Great Hall, no one could compare to her. She specifically made the dress she was wearing and Catelyn remembered how Septa Mordane praised Sansa about her stitching and lovely details she would add. Yes, her daughter would make a fine queen, if only her Lord husband would agree.

"I'm not your son!"

Catelyn glared at the bastard her husband fathered. He was standing, glaring at Benjen Stark, her husband's little brother, Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch. The hall fell silent at Snow's outburst and Catelyn could feel the Queen's eyes on her figure, arching one of her perfect sculpted brows at her. The Queen's brother, Ser Jamie, was looking towards Lady Y/n with something unreadable in his Lannister Green eyes. All while Lady Y/n looked at the bastard boy with pity as she watched him and Benjen Stark argue.

Benjen stood up. "More's the pity." He put a hand on Snow's shoulder. "Come back to me after you've fathered a few bastards of your own, and we'll see how you feel." Catelyn watched the boy tremble. "I will never father a bastard," he said carefully. "Never!" He spat it out like venom and in the corner of Catelyn's eye, she saw how Lady Y/n flinched back, almost as if someone had stabbed her beneath the table.

The Bastard looked around the Great Hall, his eyes meeting Catelyn's and he winced at the hardness she had in them. Tears welled up in his grey eyes. "I must be excused," he said with the last of his dignity. He whirled and bolted before they could see him cry. His feet got tangled under him as he tried to leave, and he lurched sideways into a serving girl and sent a flagon of spiced wine crashing to the floor. Laughter boomed all around him, and Catelyn just glared at the idiot boy, making a scene in front of the Queen - a Lannister Queen - and King Robert. Benjen tried to steady him but he wrenched free of his grip and ran to the door, his white direwolf followed close at his heels until they disappeared from the Hall.

Everyone laughed - except for Catelyn, her Lord Husband and good brother, her children, and the Lannister siblings - and Catelyn watched as Lady Y/n stood up, drawing the attention of her family and a few lords including her Lord husband. She didn't say a word, she just gave everyone a pointed look, like a mother scolding a child, before she marched out of the Great Hall, creating whispers and rumors. Her Lord husband stood up next, determined to follow after her, and he was soon lost in the chaos of the Hall. Music started playing again, laughter boomed and men drank till they dropped.

* * *

Of all the rooms in Winterfell's Great Keep, Catelyn's bedchambers were the hottest. She seldom had to light a fire. The castle had been built over natural hot springs, and the scalding waters rushed through its walls and chambers like blood through a man's body, driving the chill from the stone halls, filling the glass gardens with a moist warmth, keeping the earth from freezing. Open pools smoked day and night in a dozen small courtyards. That was a little thing, in summer; in winter, it was the difference between life and death. Catelyn's bath was always hot and steaming, and her walls warm to the touch.

The warmth reminded her of Riverrun, of days in the sun with Lysa and Edmure, but Ned could never abide the heat. The Starks were made for the cold, he would tell her, and she would laugh and tell him in that case they had certainly built their castle in the wrong place.

So when they had finished, Ned rolled off and climbed from her bed, as he had a thousand times before. He crossed the room, pulled back the heavy tapestries, and threw open the high narrow windows one by one, letting the night air into the chamber. The wind swirled around him as he stood facing the dark, naked, and empty-handed. Catelyn pulled the furs to her chin and watched him. He looked somehow smaller and more vulnerable, like the youth she had wed in the sept at Riverrun, fifteen long years gone. Her loins still ached from the urgency of his lovemaking. It was a good ache. She could feel his seed within her. She prayed that it might quicken there. It had been three years since Rickon. She was not too old. She could give him another son.

"I will refuse him," Ned said as he turned back to her. His eyes were haunted, his voice thick with doubt. Catelyn sat up in the bed. "You cannot. You must not."

"My duties are here in the north. I have no wish to be Robert's Hand."

"He will not understand that. He is a king now, and kings are not like other men. If you refuse to serve him, he will wonder why, and sooner or later he will begin to suspect that you oppose him. Can't you see the danger that would put us in?" Ned shook his head, refusing to believe. "Robert would never harm me or any of mine. We were closer than brothers. He loves me. If I refuse him, he will roar and curse and bluster, and in a week we will laugh about it together. I know the man!"

"You knew the man," she said. "The king is a stranger to you," Catelyn remembered the direwolf dead in the snow, the broken antler lodged deep in her throat. She had to make him see. "Pride is everything to a king, my lord. Robert came all this way to see you, to bring you these great honors, you cannot throw them back in his face."

"Honors?" Ned laughed bitterly. "In his eyes, yes," she said. "And in yours?"

"And in mine," she blazed, angry now. Why couldn't he see? "He offers his own son in marriage to our daughter, what else would you call that? Sansa might someday be queen. Her sons could rule from the Wall to the mountains of Dorne. What is so wrong with that?"

"Gods, Catelyn, Sansa is only eleven," Ned said. "And Joffrey . . . Joffrey is . . . " She finished for him. " . . . crown prince, and heir to the Iron Throne. And I was only twelve when my father promised me to your brother Brandon." That brought a bitter twist to Ned's mouth.

"Brandon. Yes. Brandon would know what to do. He always did. It was all meant for Brandon. You, Winterfell, everything. He was born to be a King's Hand and a father to queens. I never asked for this cup to pass to me." "Perhaps not," Catelyn said, "but Brandon is dead, and the cup has passed, and you must drink from it, like it or not." Ned turned away from her, back to the night. He stood staring out in the darkness, watching the moon and the stars perhaps, or perhaps the sentries on the wall. Catelyn softened then, to see his pain. Eddard Stark had married her in Brandon's place, as custom decreed, but the shadow of his dead brother still lay between them, as did the other, the shadow of the woman he would not name, the woman who had borne him his bastard son.

She was about to go to him when the knock came at the door, loud and unexpected. Ned turned, frowning. "What is it?" Desmond's voice came through the door. "My lord, Maester Luwin is without and begs an urgent audience."

"You told him I had left orders not to be disturbed?"

"Yes, my lord. He insists."

"Very well. Send him in."

Ned crossed to the wardrobe and slipped on a heavy robe. Catelyn realized suddenly how cold it had become. She sat up in bed and pulled the furs to her chin. "Perhaps we should close the windows," she suggested. Ned nodded absently.

Maester Luwin was shown in. The maester was a small grey man. His eyes were grey, and quick, and saw much. His hair was grey, what little the years had left him. His robe was grey wool, trimmed with white fur, the Stark colors. Its great floppy sleeves had pockets hidden inside. Luwin was always tucking things into those sleeves and producing other things from them: books, messages, strange artifacts, toys for the children. With all he kept hidden in his sleeves, Catelyn was surprised that Maester Luwin could lift his arms at all.

The maester waited until the door had closed behind him before he spoke. "My lord," he said to Ned, "pardon for disturbing your rest. I have been left a message." Ned looked irritated. "Been left? By whom? Has there been a rider? I was not told."

"There was no rider, my lord. Only a carved wooden box, left on a table in my observatory while I napped. My servants saw no one, but it must have been brought by someone in the king's party. We have had no other visitors from the south."

"A wooden box, you say?" Catelyn said. "Inside was a fine new lens for the observatory, from Myr by the look of it. The Lenscrafters of Myr are without equal." Ned frowned. He had little patience for this sort of thing, Catelyn knew. "A lens," he said. "What has that to do with me?" "I asked the same question," Maester Luwin said. "Clearly there was more to this than the seeming." Under the heavy weight of her furs, Catelyn shivered.

"A lens is an instrument to help us see."

"Indeed it is." He fingered the collar of his order; a heavy chain worn tight around the neck beneath his robe, each link forged from a different metal. Catelyn could feel dread stirring inside her once again. "What is it that they would have us see more clearly?"

"The very thing I asked myself." Maester Luwin drew a tightly rolled paper out of his sleeve. "I found the true message concealed within a false bottom when I dismantled the box the lens had come in, but it is not for my eyes." Ned held out his hand. "Let me have it, then." Luwin did not stir. "Pardons, my lord. The message is not for you either. It is marked for the eyes of the Lady Catelyn, and her alone. May I approach?" Catelyn nodded, not trusting to speak. The maester placed the paper on the table beside the bed. It was sealed with a small blob of blue wax. Luwin bowed and began to retreat. "Stay," Ned commanded him. His voice was grave. He looked at Catelyn. "What is it? My lady, you're shaking."

"I'm afraid," she admitted. She reached out and took the letter in trembling hands. The furs dropped away from her nakedness, forgotten. In the blue wax was the moon-and falcon seal of House Arryn. "It's from Lysa." Catelyn looked at her husband. "It will not make us glad," she told him.

"There is grief in this message, Ned. I can feel it." Ned frowned, his face darkening. "Open it." Catelyn broke the seal. Her eyes moved over the words. At first, they made no sense to her. Then she remembered. "Lysa took no chances. When we were girls together, we had a private language, she and I."

"Can you read it?"

"Yes," Catelyn admitted. "Then tell us."

"Perhaps I should withdraw," Maester Luwin said. "No," Catelyn said. "We will need your counsel." She threw back the furs and climbed from the bed. The night air was as cold as the grave on her bare skin as she padded across the room.

Maester Luwin averted his eyes. Even Ned looked shocked. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Lighting a fire," Catelyn told him. She found a dressing gown and shrugged into it, then knelt over the cold hearth. "Maester Luwin—" Ned began. "Maester Luwin has delivered all my children," Catelyn said. "This is no time for false modesty." She slid the paper in among the kindling and placed the heavier logs on top of it. Ned crossed the room, took her by the arm, and pulled her to her feet.

He held her there, his face inches from her. "My lady, tell me! What was this message?" Catelyn stiffened in his grasp. "A warning," she said softly. "If we have the wits to hear." His eyes searched her face. "Go on."

"Lysa says Jon Arryn was murdered." His fingers tightened on her arm. "By whom?"

"The Lannisters," she told him. "The queen." Ned released his hold on her arm. There were deep red marks on her skin. "Gods," he whispered. His voice was hoarse. "Your sister is sick with grief. She cannot know what she is saying."

"She knows," Catelyn said. "Lysa is impulsive, yes, but this message was carefully planned, cleverly hidden. She knew it meant death if her letter fell into the wrong hands. To risk so much, she must have had more than mere suspicion." Catelyn looked to her husband.

"Now we truly have no choice. You must be Robert's Hand. You must go south with him and learn the truth." She saw at once that Ned had reached a very different conclusion. "The only truths I know are here. The south is a nest of adders I would do better to avoid." Luwin plucked at his chain collar where it had chafed the soft skin of his throat. "The Hand of the King has great power, my lord. Power to find the truth of Lord Arryn's death, to bring his killers to the king's justice. Power to protect Lady Arryn and her son if the worst be true."

Ned glanced helplessly around the bedchamber. Catelyn's heart went out to him, but she knew she could not take him in her arms just then. First, the victory must be won, for her children's sake.

"You say you love Robert like a brother. Would you leave your brother surrounded by Lannisters?"

"The Others take both of you," Ned muttered darkly. He turned away from them and went to the window. She did not speak, nor did the maester. They waited, quiet, while Eddard Stark said a silent farewell to the home he loved. When he turned away from the window, at last, his voice was tired and full of melancholy, and moisture glittered faintly in the corners of his eyes.

"My father went south once, to answer the summons of a king. He never came home again."

"A different time," Maester Luwin said. "A different king."

"Yes," Ned said dully. He seated himself in a chair by the hearth. "Catelyn, you shall stay here in Winterfell." His words were like an icy draft through her heart. "No," she said, suddenly afraid.

Was this to be her punishment? Never to see his face again, nor to feel his arms around her? "Yes," Ned said, in words that would brook no argument. "You must govern the north in my stead, while I run Robert's errands. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. Robb is fourteen. Soon enough, he will be a man grown. He must learn to rule, and I will not be here for him. Make him part of your councils. He must be ready when his time comes."

"Gods will, not for many years," Maester Luwin murmured. "Maester Luwin, I trust you as I would my own blood. Give my wife your voice in all things great and small. Teach my son the things he needs to know. Winter is coming." Maester Luwin nodded gravely. Then silence fell until Catelyn found her courage and asked the question whose answer she most dreaded. "What of the other children?" Ned stood, and took her in his arms, and held her face close to his. "Rickon is very young," he said gently. "He should stay here with you and Robb. The others I would take with me."

"I could not bear it," Catelyn said, trembling. "You must," he said. "Sansa must wed Joffrey, that is clear now, we must give them no grounds to suspect our devotion. And it is past time that Arya learned the ways of a southron court. In a few years, she will be of an age to marry too." Sansa would shine in the south, Catelyn thought to herself, and the gods knew that Arya needed refinement. Reluctantly, she let go of them in her heart. But not Bran. Never Bran.

"Yes," she said, "but please, Ned, for the love you bear me, let Bran remain here at Winterfell. He is only seven."

"I was eight when my father sent me to foster at the Eyrie," Ned said. "Ser Rodrik tells me there is bad feeling between Robb and Prince Joffrey. That is not healthy. Bran can bridge that distance. He is a sweet boy, quick to laugh, easy to love. Let him grow up with the young princes, let him become their friend as Robert became mine. Our House will be the safer for it."

He was right; Catelyn knew it. It did not make the pain any easier to bear. She would lose all four of them, then: Ned, and both girls, and her sweet, loving Bran. Only Robb and little Rickon would be left to her. She felt lonely already. Winterfell was such a vast place. "Keep him off the walls, then," she said bravely. "You know how Bran loves to climb." Ned kissed the tears from her eyes before they could fall. "Thank you, my lady," he whispered. "This is hard, I know."

"What of Jon Snow, my lord?" Maester Luwin asked.

Catelyn tensed at the mention of the name. Ned felt the anger in her and pulled away.

Many men fathered bastards. Catelyn had grown up with that knowledge. It came as no surprise to her, in the first year of her marriage, to learn that Ned had fathered a child on some girl chance met on campaign. He had a man's needs, after all, and they had spent that year apart, Ned off at war in the south while she remained safe in her father's castle at Riverrun. Her thoughts were more of Robb, the infant at her breast, than of the husband she scarcely knew. He was welcome to whatever solace he might find between battles. And if his seed quickened, she expected he would see to the child's needs. He did more than that. The Starks were not like other men. Ned brought his bastard home with him and called him "son" for all the north to see. When the wars were over at last, and Catelyn rode to Winterfell, Jon and his wet nurse had already taken up residence. That cut deep. Ned would not speak of the mother, not so much as a word, but a castle has no secrets, and Catelyn heard her maids repeating tales they heard from the lips of her husband's soldiers. They whispered of Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, deadliest of the seven knights of Aerys's Kingsguard, and of how their young lord had slain him in single combat. And they told how afterward Ned had carried Ser Arthur's sword back to the beautiful young sister who awaited him in a castle called Starfall on the shores of the Summer Sea. The Lady Ashara Dayne, tall and fair, with haunting violet eyes. It had taken her a fortnight to marshal her courage, but finally, in bed one night, Catelyn had asked her husband the truth of it, asked him to his face. That was the only time in all their years that Ned had ever frightened her.

"Never ask me about Jon," he said, cold as ice. "He is my blood, and that is all you need to know. And now I will learn where you heard that name, my lady."

She had pledged to obey; she told him; and from that day on, the whispering had stopped, and Ashara Dayne's name was never heard in Winterfell again. Whoever Jon's mother had been, Ned must have loved her fiercely, for nothing Catelyn said would persuade him to send the boy away. It was the one thing she could never forgive him. She had come to love her husband with all her heart, but she had never found it in her to love Jon. She might have overlooked a dozen bastards for Ned's sake, so long as they were out of sight. Jon was never out of sight, and as he grew, he looked more like Ned than any of the trueborn sons she bore him. Somehow that made it worse. 

"Jon _must_ go," 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the chapter was difficult to write, to be honest. I needed to get in the right mindset to write Catelyn and I finally got it after reading a bit of the first book, Game of Thrones (ASoIaF). Anyways, I hope you enjoyed. The bottom half - after the Great Hall - is entirely from the book, I didn't change a thing, and I try not to change anything, just tweak it a bit. Thank you for reading! xxx


	8. 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙠'𝙨 𝘿𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 𝘒𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘑𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘦 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally get some Jon x Reader action and I hope I'm not rushing the relationship too much. I will, of course, build the relationship as time goes on and have some more Jon x Reader moments in the future. 
> 
> (Edited Chapter: 6/29/2020)

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙀𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩:𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙠'𝙨 𝘿𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨

𝙀𝙙𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙠

Eddard couldn’t believe his lady wife. She stood so tall, looking at him, dead in the eyes as she proclaimed that Jon must leave, to leave his home for 14 years. He was just a boy, a _ boy _ for god's sake. 

“He and Robb are close,” Ned said, hoping to change Catelyn’s mind. “I had hoped . . . ” 

“He cannot stay here,” Catelyn spat, cutting him off. “He is your son, not mine. I will not have him.” Ned gawked at her, disbelief clouding his grey eyes. All he wanted was for Jon to have a happy life. Full of love, laughter, and family. He wanted to give Jon that, and he thought he could, until Catelyn came to Winterfell, holding his trueborn babe, Robb. A pale boy with Tully features, and a lively smile on his face. Robb was a complete opposite of Jon, the sad and troubled boy Ned brought home from Dorne. 

Ned loved Jon, as did his children - excluding Sansa - and he hoped that when Robb became Lord of Winterfell, Jon would be with him. But his Lady Wife’s words, her cruel words, had broken his heart. Ned knew of course, - deep in his heart - he knew that he would do Jon no kindness by leaving him here at Winterfell. 

He gave her an anguished look. “You know I cannot take him south. There will be no place for him at court. A boy with a bastard’s name . . . you know what they will say of him. He will be shunned.” His heart twisted at the thought of Jon becoming nothing more than a laughing stock. A despised creature. 

“They say your friend Robert has fathered a dozen bastards himself.” spat Catelyn, glaring at Ned with fury in his eyes.

“And none of them has ever been seen at court!” Ned blazed. “The Lannister woman has seen to that. How can you be so damnably cruel, Catelyn? He is only a boy. He—” His fury was on him, he wanted to scream and yell at her. He might have said more, and worse, but Maester Luwin cut in. “Another solution presents itself,” he said, his voice quiet. “Your brother Benjen came to me about Jon a few days ago. It seems the boy aspires to take the black.” Ned looked at the man, shock overwhelmed him. “He asked to join the Night’s Watch?” Ned didn’t believe it, Jon was a boy, a boy! He did not belong to the Night’s Watch, no matter the honor or glory. 

_ “I do hope that your bastard thinks the same way, Lord Stark. Otherwise, my sister, Lady Y/n, won’t have him in any way.” _

Jamie Lannister’s words echoed through Ned’s head. Jon had a soulmate, and he had a chance for a life full of love and happiness - even if his soulmate was a Lannister - and Ned would be damned if he took away that chance. 

“There is great honor in service on the Wall, my lord,” spoke Maester Luwin, his hands crossing together over his middle. “And even a bastard may rise high in the Night’s Watch,” Ned reflected, smirking bitterly. “Jon is so young. If he asked this when he was a man grown, that would be one thing, but a boy of fourteen . . . ” He trailed off, memories of his sister and brothers passed over him, sending a shiver down his spine. 

“A hard sacrifice,” Maester Luwin agreed. “Yet these are hard times, my lord. His road is no crueler than yours or your lady’s.” 

Ned turned away from them to gaze out the window, his long face silent and thoughtful. He closed his eyes, thinking of ways to approach the Lady Y/n Lannister. How could he convince her to help Jon, to protect him from the vultures in King’s Landing? Oh, gods, thought Ned, how do I tell Lord Tywin about this? Scenarios played through his mind and he thought about Brandon. What would Brandon do? 

He clenched his hands, forming a fist as a flicker of haunting violet eyes stared back at him in the void. Ashara’s smile, her laugh, her scent, everything about her overwhelmed him. He wished he could go back in time and hold her once more before she flung herself from the tower. 

Finally, he sighed and turned back. His eyes filled with determination as he stared at Lady Catelyn and Maester Luwin. He could see the hopefulness in his wife's eyes, it made him recoil in disgust. How could this heartless woman be hopeful to send a boy to the Wall? Many die during their servitude, and yet she was willing to send Jon there. 

“I will not send Jon to the Wall,” Ned spoke, his tone hard and his eyes cold. “But My Lord -” started Maester Luwin. “He can’t stay here Ned!! I don’t want him here!! He will never be my son!” spat Catelyn, anger in her eyes. 

Ned just stared at the woman. “I will not send Jon to the Wall, nor will he stay here while I’m away in King’s Landing,” Maester Luwin and Catelyn sported confused looks on their faces. “Where will the boy go, My Lord?” 

“He will be coming with me, to King’s Landing, along with his Soulmate.” Catelyn’s breath hitched at the word soulmate. “What? Has he found her my lord?” asked Maester Luwin. “He has indeed, Maester, his soulmate is the Lady Y/n Lannister,” 

All the color in Catelyn’s face drained, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief that Jon - a bastard boy - had a soulmate with such good breeding. It almost made Ned want to smirk, but he advised himself against it. For it wouldn’t do him any good provoking his already angry wife. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I must retire, his Grace and I will be up early in the morning, negotiating.” 

Ned dressed and walked out of his Lady Wife’s chamber, his thoughts on the future. If Lord Tywin agreed, Jon would be marrying Lady Y/n, however, it did not settle well with Ned that Lord Tywin would be so close to his bastard. The Great Lion’s reputation did not fail at painting him. He was cruel, ruthless, cold, and calculating. His thoughts and ambitions about his legacy were unheard of. Some who were close to Tywin Lannister says that he’s already ten steps ahead of his enemies, and by the time they do figure it out, they were bleeding out, waiting for death to claim them. 

Yes, the Great Lion was a force to be reckoned with, and Ned never wished to make an enemy with him. Perhaps this union of Jon and Lady Y/n would help, creating an ally with the Westerlands and the North. 

A giggle echoed through the walls of Winterfell and Ned stopped and listened. 

“My Lord Snow, thank you for escorting me back safely,” said a flirtatious voice. Ned heard Jon’s chuckle and recognized his voice immediately. “It was my pleasure, Lady Lannister,” 

Lady Lannister giggled and Ned hid himself in the shadows as he watched Jon and Lady Lannister interact. Her back was to her door and Jon stood before her, a flush on his face and neck. “How many times do I have to ask you to call me Y/n?” she stepped closer to Jon. “At least once more, Lady Lannister,” he responded. It was quiet, silent as the crypts below Winterfell. Only the sound of the teenagers' heavy breathing could be heard. 

“I want to thank you, Jon, for this night. It’s been the most splendid night I’ve had all my life,” she said softly. Jon’s grey eyes flickered down to her mouth. “There’s no need to thank me, My Lady. Besides, tonight has been the best night of my life as well,” She smiled, stepping closer into Jon. “I’m glad that I’ve brought you such joy, My Lord,” Her face was inches away from Jon’s. 

“My Lady?” he asked. “We shouldn’t be doing this?” 

“Why not, My Lord?” 

“Because I’m a bastard - “ She pressed her index finger to Jon’s lips, silencing him. “Don’t say that word, or you’ll regret it.” 

“But I am one, My Lady. You don’t deserve to kiss a Bastard -” He was silenced with a kiss to his mouth. Her hands wrapped around Jon’s neck, and his arms came around her waist, lifting her slightly. It was sloppy, as Ned could tell, but what do you expect from teenagers. 

Jon pulled away. “No, we shouldn’t be doing this. We can’t complete the bond,” he said fastly. Lady Y/n shook her head. “We’re soulmates, Jon, we have each other’s name on our skin. We belong to one another,” 

“You deserve more than a Bastard!” he said loudly. “I don’t and will never deserve you, you deserve a knight or a Lord, not some bastard who can’t give you anything, you deserve someone who will treat you like the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You will gain nothing from being with me, Lady Lannister, nothing. I am not worthy of you, and because of that, I refuse you.” 

Ned watched as Lady Y/n slumped her shoulders, he could see her shoulder’s shake in quiet sobs, but she did not let them escape. She looked up at Jon, tears in her eyes. “Very well, Lord Snow,” she backed up away from Jon and opened her door quickly. 

“Wait Y/n! No!” she slammed the door in his face and locked it. Jon placed his hands, flat up against the wooden door. “I didn’t mean it,” he whispered, tears flowed from his eyes for the second time that night. His shoulders shook as he cried. 

Ned sighed and rubbed his temples as he watched on. “It’s a shame to see soulmates quarrel, huh Lord Stark?” Ned turned his head to see Jamie Lannister leaning against the wall, still in his clothes from the feast. “What do you want Lannister?” he spat. “Ouch, Stark, is that any way to talk to your future family?” Ned narrowed his eyes at Ser Jamie. “We are going to be family, sooner or later, Stark. Whether or not your son plucks up the courage, we’ll still be connected with your daughter marrying my eldest nephew, after all.” 

Ned wanted to bash in his perfect smile the blonde fucker had on his face. “Night Lord Stark,” he swaggered off to his chambers - glaring at Jon as he walked - and opened the door and soon Jon and Ned were the only Starks left in the corridor. 

Jon turned his head to Ned, his eyes widened. “It’s not what you think, father,” Ned holds up his hand. “Jon, walk with me,” 

Jon nodded his head and started walking with Ned to his personal solar. “Jon, is she your soulmate?” was the first question Ned asked. He needed to know that Y/n Lannister was Jon’s soulmate and not just some green boy crush. “Yes, she’s my soulmate.” Jon lifted his shirt sleeve and there on his pale skin was the name Lannister next to Y/n. Ned nodded his head. 

“Do you want to be with her?” Jon bit his bottom lip. “I do, father, but what can I offer her?” Ned always had hoped that Jon’s soulmate was a lowborn so he wouldn’t have to worry about his Bastard name. “Jon, do you love her?” 

Jon didn’t know what to say. “Yes, I love her. I know I’ve just met her, but she’s . . . she’s everything I thought she would be.” Jon said with a dreamy expression on his face. “She’s kind, beautiful, and she’s sincere.” Ned smiled at Jon. He knew the feeling of talking about his soulmate. It was every mates dream to brag about their soulmate and how perfect they were. 

“Jon, Maester Luwin told me of your desire to join the Night’s Watch.” Jon looked at his father, fear in his eyes. “He-He told you?” he asked. Ned nodded. “I’m going to be taking the position of Hand, and I’m taking Sansa, Arya, and Bran.” Jon looked down at his feet. “Lady Catelyn has requested for you to leave Winterfell, to join the Night’s Watch.” Jon looked back up at Ned, fear in his eyes. “I told her no. I told her that I’m taking you with me, to the Capitol,” 

“But father, you’ll be laughed at, you - “ Ned held up his hand. “Never mind what the people in King’s Landing will think of me, I don’t care, and neither should you, Jon.” 

Jon looked down at his hands. “I don’t know if Lady Y/n will have me, especially with my behavior I sported this evening,” he whispered, fear in his voice at the thought of never being with his soulmate. Ned smiled sadly at him. 

“Jon, you are young, and all your life you’ve been a bastard, my bastard. You are young, and when you’re young you will make stupid mistakes. Tonight, what you’ve said, was a mistake. But, if you go to her, get on your knees, beg for forgiveness. Soulmates are blessings, and if the Old Gods have blessed you with Lady Lannister, then take that blessing with a full heart. For nothing can ever compare to being with your soulmate, Jon. The feeling of being complete and whole, of being loved no matter what you do, is something that only very few folks get to experience.” 

Jon watched Ned with hope in his eyes. “Do you think she’ll forgive me, even though I’ve slighted her?” Ned nodded his head. “I believe she’ll give you a second chance, but don’t get your hopes up, Lannisters are not forgiving when they’re slighted, and Lord Lannister does _ not  _ give out second chances.” 

  
  



	9. 𝙎𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙙 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while, I was suffering from writer's block. I kept trying to write in Jon's pov but chapter ten just didn't seem to fit in Jon's pov so I changed it to the readers. But I hope you'll enjoy chapter nine and I hope to get chapter ten up this weekend or next week, Thank you for reading and have a great day! x

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙉𝙞𝙣𝙚: 𝙎𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙙 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚

𝙅𝙤𝙣 𝙎𝙣𝙤𝙬

Jon watched as the men in the training yard danced around each other as they sparred. Prince Joffrey was in the back, under the shade of the high stone wall with Lannister men surrounding him. Jon noticed the burnt man and little Thomas at first before his grey eyes caught the sight of Y/n. She was dressed in breeches! Jon’s face’s heated up at the sight of her body. Unlike the dress she wore last night - which covered and buried her figure beneath the fabric - her training clothes were tight-fitting, and showed off her shaped arse, thighs, and waist. Jon didn’t need a looking glass to know that his face was red as the leaves of the Weirwood tree in the Godswood.

“Good, now again!” commented Ser Rodrik as seven-year-old Tommen and Bran sparred with their training swords.

Jon sighed, his leg was dangling while the other was drawn up to his chin as he sat on the sill of the window in the covered bridge between the armory and the Great Keep, where Jon had a view of the whole yard.

Jon turned his head when he heard footsteps running towards him and he saw his little sister; Arya. Arya and him were the only ones that had their father’s long faces and dark hair. In fact, when Arya was younger, she was convinced that she too was a bastard like Jon. Ghost rose and gave his littermate a sniff and nip on Nymeria’s ear before settling down.

Jon gave her a curious look. “Shouldn’t you be working on your stitches, little sister?” Arya made a face at him. “I wanted to see them fight.” He smiled. “Come here, then.” Arya climbed up on the window and sat beside him, to a chorus of thuds and grunts from the yard below.

Jon noticed her disappointment, that it was the younger boys drilling, instead of Robb and Joffrey - who looked like a girl - but she watched as her brother Bran and Tommen sparred.

Bran was so heavily padded he looked as though he had belted on a featherbed, and Prince Tommen, who was plump, to begin with, seemed positively round. They were huffing and puffing and hitting at each other with padded wooden swords under the watchful eye of old Ser Rodrik Cassel, the master-at-arms, a great stout keg of a man with magnificent white cheek whiskers.

A dozen spectators, man, and boy, were calling out encouragement, Robb’s voice the

loudest among them. She spotted Theon Greyjoy beside him, his black doublet

emblazoned with the golden Kraken of his House, a look of wry contempt on his face.

Both of the combatants were staggering.

“A shade more exhausting than needlework,” Jon observed. “A shade more fun than needlework,” Arya gave back at him. Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya flushed and Jon’s heart warmed at the sight of her.

“Why aren’t you down in the yard?” Arya asked him.

He gave her a half-smile. “Bastards are not allowed to damage young princes,” he said. “Any bruises they take in the practice yard must come from trueborn swords.”

“Oh.”

Jon watched his little half-brother whack at Tommen. “I could do just as good as Bran,” Arya said. “He’s only seven. I’m nine.” Jon looked her over with all his fourteen-year-old wisdom. “You’re too skinny,” he said. He took her arm to feel her muscle. Then he sighed and shook his head. “I doubt you could even lift a longsword, little sister, never mind swing one.” Arya snatched back her arm and glared at him. Jon messed up her hair again. They watched Bran and Tommen circle each other.

“You see Prince Joffrey?” Jon asked. Arya shook her head and Jon pointed towards him, standing lazily as he watched his plump little brother spar with Bran. “Look at the arms on his surcoat,” Jon suggested. Joffrey had an ornate shield that had been embroidered on the prince’s padded surcoat. No doubt the needlework was exquisite. The arms were divided down the middle; on one side was the crowned stag of the royal House, on the other the lion of Lannister.

“The Lannisters are proud,” Jon observed. “You’d think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother’s House equal in honor to the king’s.”

“The woman is important too!” Arya protested. Jon chuckled. “Perhaps you should do the same thing, little sister. Wed Tully to Stark in your arms.”

“A wolf with a fish in its mouth?” It made her laugh. “That would look silly. Besides, if a girl can’t fight, why should she have a coat of arms?” Jon shrugged. “Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms. I did not make the rules, little sister.”

There was a shout from the courtyard below. Prince Tommen was rolling in the dust, trying to get up and failing. All the padding made him look like a turtle on its back. Bran was standing over him with an upraised wooden sword, ready to whack him again once he regained his feet. The men began to laugh, while Y/n glared at them making them become silent, and Thomas cheered for his cousin, encouraging him to get up.

“Enough!” Ser Rodrik called out. He gave the prince a hand and yanked him back to his feet. “Well fought. Lew, Donnis, help them out of their armor.” He looked around. “Prince Joffrey, Robb, will you go another round?” Robb, already sweaty from a previous bout, moved forward eagerly. “Gladly.”

Joffrey moved into the sunlight in response to Rodrik’s summons. His hair shone like spun gold.

He looked bored. “This is a game for children, Ser Rodrik.” Theon Greyjoy gave a sudden bark of laughter. “You are children,” he said derisively. “Robb may be a child,” Joffrey said.

“I am a prince. And I grow tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword.” Y/n placed her hand on Joffrey’s shoulder. “Joff, please - “ he gave Y/n a glare and Jon had to control himself from lashing out at the spoiled prince. Thomas gave his aunt a look before grabbing her hand in his. Y/n smiled at the little boy and squeezed his hand affectionately.

“You got more swats than you gave, Joff,” Robb said, using the nickname Y/n used to address Joffrey. “Are you afraid?” Prince Joffrey looked at him. “Oh, terrified,” he said.“You’re so much older.”

Some of the Lannister men laughed. Jon looked down on the scene with a frown. “Joffrey is truly a little shit,” he told Arya. Ser Rodrik tugged thoughtfully at his white whiskers. “What are you suggesting?” he asked the prince. “Live steel.”

Y/n gasped and tried to speak with Joffrey but he wouldn’t have it. “Joffrey, please, you’ll hurt yourself,”

“Done,” Robb shot back, interrupting Y/n. “You’ll be sorry!” The master-at-arms put a hand on Robb’s shoulder to quiet him. “Live steel is too dangerous. I will permit you tourney swords, with blunted edges.”

Joffrey said nothing, but a knight, who Jon saw speaking with Y/n earlier that morning, with black hair and burn scars on his face, pushed forward in front of the prince. “This is your prince. Who are you to tell him he may not have an edge on his sword, ser?”

“Master-at-arms of Winterfell, Clegane, and you would do well not to forget it.”

“Are you training women here?” the burned man wanted to know. He was muscled like a bull. “I am training knights,” Ser Rodrik said pointedly. “They will have steel when they are ready. When they are of an age.” The burned man looked at Robb. “How old are you, boy?” “Fourteen,” Robb said. “I killed a man at twelve. You can be sure it was not with a blunt sword.”

And for once, Y/n smirked at the man’s remark, amusement was dancing in her eyes. Jon and Arya could see Robb bristle. His pride was wounded.

He turned on Ser Rodrik. “Let me do it. I can beat him.”

“Beat him with a tourney blade, then,” Ser Rodrik said. Joffrey shrugged. “Come and see me when you’re older, Stark. If you’re not too old.” There was laughter from the Lannister men. Robb’s curses rang through the yard.

Theon Greyjoy seized Robb’s arm to keep him away from the prince. Ser Rodrik tugged at his whiskers in dismay.

Joffrey feigned a yawn and turned to his younger brother. “Come, Tommen, Thomas, Aunt Y/n,” he said, his green eyes filled with mirth. “The hour of play is done. Leave the children to their frolics.”

That brought more laughter from the Lannisters, more curses from Robb. Ser Rodrik’s face was beet-red with fury under the white of his whiskers. Theon kept Robb locked in an iron grip until the princes and their party were safely away.

Jon watched them leave, his eyes trained on Y/n’s figure as she spoke quietly with the man called Clegane and held little Thomas in her arms. His face had grown as still as the pool at the heart of the godswood. Finally, he climbed down off the window.

“The show is done,” he said. He bent to scratch Ghost behind the ears. The white wolf rose and rubbed against him.

“You had best run back to your room, little sister. Septa Mordane will surely be lurking. The longer you hide, the sterner the penance. You’ll be sewing all through winter. When the spring thaw comes, they will find your body with a needle still locked tight between your frozen fingers.”

Arya didn’t seem to think it was funny. “I hate needlework!” she said with passion. “It’s not fair!”

“Nothing is fair,” Jon said. He messed up her hair again and walked away from her, Ghost moving silently beside him.

The clang against castle forged steel rang in the Courtyard as Jon watched Lady Y/n and a man called Eric Marbrand dance around each other, their swords kissing as they trained. The swords weren’t blunt, they were live and Lannister soldiers gathered around the two fighters, cheering and placing bets.

* * *

“Again,” shouted Eric. His face was red and sweat beaded down his forehead, his copper hair stuck to his skin as he gave Lady Y/n a cocky smile, his sword in her face as she glared at him. She raised her sword, meeting his, the swords kissed and broke free as they swung at each other. Marbrand dodged a swing and replied with more force, his blade cutting the exposed skin of Lady Y/n.

She cried out and glared angrily at him while Jon had to force himself to stay put, otherwise he would attack Marbrand. Lady Y/n let out a yell and started running at him, her jabs and swings full force as she attacked, dodged, and cut Marbrand. His smirk was wiped from his face as he began fighting his Lady.

The yard was silent as they fought, the only noise that echoed was the sounds of swords banging against each other. Lady Y/n dodged another strike and swiped at Marbrand’s leg, making him cry out before he threw down his sword, yielding.

“I yield! I yield!”

Lady Y/n smirked at him, and the soldiers around the yard cheered and threw bags of coins around. She walked towards Eric and gave her his hand, he took it and she helped him up.

“Thank you, Eric,” he nodded his head and Jon could see blush forming on his cheeks. He clenched his fists, anger coursed through his body as he watched the man smile and blush like a green boy.

That’s _his_ soulmate.

Jon must’ve been staring at Lady Y/n because Marbrand nodded in his direction, catching Lady Y/n’s attention. She scowled at him and Jon wanted to run up to her and get on his knees and kiss the dirt she walked on.

Jon tried to smile but she turned away and marched off, leaving him to huff and slump his shoulders.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding,” says a voice full of mirth. Jon turns his head, his grey eyes locking with Robb’s Tully blue ones. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Fuck off,” Robb laughs joyfully and claps Jon on the back. “Relax, Snow, she’ll come around, they always do.” Jon just sighed, miserably. “Oh, dear, this isn’t a crush is it?” He shook his head. “Is she your . . . ?” Robb trailed off, his eyes locking onto Jon’s arm. “Yes, she’s my soulmate. I thought you knew,”

“No, I had an idea but I wasn’t sure until now.” he joined Jon and leaned against the railing of the bridge. “What are you doing Jon?”

“To be honest? I don’t know. I made a mistake last night. A mistake I don’t know how to correct.” Jon sighed heavily, turning his head to look at Robb. Stark grey and Tully blue met and Robb gave him a small, yet sincere smile.

“Don’t you worry, I bet you’ll figure it out, eh Snow?” Jon chuckled and nodded his head. Robb clapped him on the back and Jon couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Robb may not be his true brother, but he was still his brother nonetheless.

* * *

Jon knew Lady Y/n was avoiding him. They were at dinner in the Great Hall and she avoided making eye-contact. He didn’t even touch his plate, his eyes focused on Lady Y/n, making Lady Catelyn angry that a bastard was staring at the Queen’s sister with desire and longing in his eyes. Jon couldn’t help it. After last night, their lips touching, Jon wanted more of her. She was addicting, like a sweet fruit that only grew in Dorne.

Lady Y/n’s brothers were also giving him looks, but he ignored them, he wanted, no he needed, Lady Y/n to look at him, even if it was full of hatred, he needed to see her face and her eyes. Gods, he was acting like a whipped dog, begging for treats from his master.

But, alas, she did not give into his stares. She stood up, ignored him, and stalked out. Jon wanted to go after her, but one look from his father had him sitting down with a scowl on his face. Jon stirred his stew, his arm on the arm with his head in his hand. He was miserable, he felt rejected, and he hated it. He’s always been looked down upon, but now this woman, his soulmate welcomed him into her life, told him personal things and he told her his secrets and desires, only to have him fuck it all up.

Jon sighed, and tears tried to well up in his eyes, but he pushed them down. He won’t cry here. No, he’ll go cry in the comforts of his room. Where no one can see him and his patheticness.

“Snow,” Jon looked up from his food, his eyes settling on the Imp. “My sister told me what happened last night -”

“Can you tell her I’m sorry, and I didn’t mean what I said.” he interrupted. Tyrion looked at him with raised brows and Jon realized he interrupted him. “Why don’t you tell her yourself?” Jon scoffed. “She won’t even look at me.”

“Tell me, Jon, do you want to be with her, as a soulmate, not a friend?” Jon looked down at his plate. He needed to make a decision, go to Lady Y/n ask - no plead for forgiveness and complete the bond or ignore her and go to the Wall and become a Sworn Brother.

He thought of the day-dream he had, with Lady Y/n and a child of their own. He wanted that. He craved that. But would she accept him? Oh Gods, would her Lord Father accept him as being a bastard? Jon heard of the infamous Lord Tywin Lannister. He was ruthless, powerful, prideful, cold, and calculating. He ended the House Reyne in a single sweep, gaining the song The Rains of Castamere.

“Yes,” Jon cleared his throat. “Yes, I will take my place at her side, as her soulmate. I will follow her to the ends of the earth. I will never betray her or dishonor her. I promise,” Tyrion looked at him with pride as he recited the bonding words.

“My sister trains in the yard, early in the morning, she’ll be there tomorrow. Don’t fuck this up, Snow, you’ll never get another chance. My sister and father are notorious with their no-second chances.” 


	10. Hey guys, (AUTHOR'S NOTE, PLEASE READ)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Information about this story.

Hey guys, it's me. It's been a while since I've updated huh? I'm so sorry. I just wasn't feeling inspired and I realized that I had not figured out exactly what I was going to do in this story. I mean, I had a vague idea, but I never had a clear direction on how I was going to point a to point b to point c. And because of that, I became discouraged and slammed into a wall. A writers' block. 

I love this idea that I have, and I want to continue on with this story, but I must outline and re-read the books and gather lots of info for this story to work. And for those questions, many of you've asked, yes Jon is a Targaryen, but his name isn't Aegon. There's already an Aegon Targaryen and that's the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and his first wife, Elia Martell. I will try to find a Targaryen name that's fitting for Jon, but not Aegon. 

I'm also changing/editing the chapters that are already posted. This book is under construction. And once it's all finished and polished up, I hope that it will be a worthy Jon Snow x Lannister Reader fic. 

Thank you for reading and have an awesome day/night. :) 


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